


The Outdwellers

by morningstar115



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A New Society, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - No Praimfaya | Radiation Wave, Angst, Doing Better, F/M, Family, I may be trolling the show a little bit, Ignores Everything Past mid-S3, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Psychological Torture, Romance, Some elements inspired by The Hunger Games, Surviving, Torture, Violence, Worldbuilding, revolutions, screw canon, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-05 10:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 54,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20487734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningstar115/pseuds/morningstar115
Summary: After waking up alone in an unfamiliar forest, Abby Griffin finds herself fighting for survival with little more than questions about where she is now, why she is there, and who captured her and Marcus Kane outside of Arkadia in the first place.Fortunately, she has an unlikely ally. Unfortunately, the answers to her questions are only the beginning.Welcome to the Amphitheater.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have a love-hate relationship with the 100. I watched 100% of the first four seasons, 50% of the fifth season, and approximately 1% of the sixth season. I know some people love where the show is now, and that's great for them, but I stopped liking the plot sometime in S4, and most of the characters in S5.  
Then I learned they brutally killed off the only two characters I still gave a damn about in this latest season, and...Let's just say that this story is my therapy. Because insane AUs with too many OCs are my specialty, apparently (and Kabby deserved better. Okay, they all did, but especially Kabby).

A fear mongering tyrant, after losing his most valuable prisoners and killing the one who returned alone to save innocent lives, makes a trap only to be caught himself. A self-proclaimed prophet uses the loss of several authority figures to take control of their people. A sentient computer program continues her mission to “make life better” for the remnants of the human race. A woman barely old enough to be considered an adult is forced to flee her latest home and tries to make peace by protecting the gravely wounded person she loves.

Some people run from one place to another, others fight to the bloody end, and all suffer for it.

Many others play parts in the chaotic production that follows...such as a brilliant mechanic fighting a war in her own mind, a conflicted young man trying to make up for his mistakes, a bitter girl believing she has nothing left but the fight...and it comes to a head in bloodstained, half-ruined city where a false leader falls in shower of black blood at the feet of the true commander. Two creations of the same genius mind are pit against each other while a throne room is turned into a battlefield with a former leader, a brother, and an exile as the generals.

Such is life on the ground.

The city of light falls as silently as it was created, the commander regains her throne, and those who forgot everything remember and are consumed by pain and remorse. The few deep breaths of relief soon turn to gasps of panic. Distrust, anger, and sorrow run rampant with the cries of the living, and for a time, it seems that all has been won only to be lost.

But the commander’s word prevails, those who must be punished are, and those merely caught up in the struggle are pardoned. The rebuilding can begin.

It takes time to heal the living and pay respect to the dead. It takes time to wash away the blood and filth. It takes time to account for everyone. And when the counting is done, the people from the sky find that they are missing two prominent figures, gone without a trace.

The repentant young man and the once-commander of death, made co-leaders in the unexpected power vacuum, order searches. Questions are asked, clues are found then discarded, and tears are shed. There is only so long people can search when there is nothing to be found.

Before the summer peaks and autumn approaches with winter on its heels, the searches are disbanded. The people of the sky have lost two important figures, leaving a gaping hole that others struggle to fill, but life must continue.

Peace proves fragile, but it holds for a time. People eat, sleep, work, and grieve as necessary, most able to hope each nightfall for a better tomorrow. A lone man hell-bent on revenge makes his move and fails. The resident genius continues to fight her battles and wins. A mourning teenager also fights...and loses.The brother makes up for his past mistakes day by day. His heartbroken sister slowly heals. The young woman who most either hate, look up to, or fear...she survives, and tries to find ways to live, too.

The moon and stars cycle through the sky, the seasons shift, and life goes on for the people in this relatively small, battle-torn corner of the battered world.

Far away to the west, the heavens shift over another varied group of people with their own tumultuous history, strange customs, and bloody conflicts. Their society, much like that in the east during the previous year, teeters on the brink of upheaval. The calm awaits a disturbance or three, and ironically those who would keep the old order are the people to bring one.

And among the resulting insanity, two lost people will look up at the stars and wonder if it would have been better to face the end among them. As it is, their intertwined journeys are far from over.


	2. Alone

**(Beginning of Part 1: The Amphitheater)**

_Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear._

\- Ambrose Redmoon

* * *

Abby Griffin woke up to warm sunlight shining on her face.

_Mm, that feels nice, but…_

The desperate flight from Arkadia and Pike. The conflicting rumors about Jaha and chips and a Grounder attack. Fleeing from the hidden cave into mostly-unknown forest. Her and Marcus being separated from the others. The shadow from something large looming above. Marcus’s panicked voice, a sensation like a needle prick, blurred blue-white lights...then nothing.

The onslaught of memories brought her scrambling to her feet in seconds, heart pounding in her ears. _Where am I?_

Her breath caught in her throat as she took in her surroundings. She stood in an unfamiliar clearing filled with short grass and plants, surrounded in all directions by dense-growing, smooth-barked trees with pale green leaves. At the edge of the clearing, a narrow footpath led off into the forest.

And she was utterly alone.

_Where’s Marcus?_

She attempted to call out; only a croak emerged from her painfully dry throat. Swallowing hard, she tried again, “Marcus? Marcus! Anyone? _Hello_?”

Nothing but the trilling of birds and the distant sound of running water answered her. _Is this a dream? If it were, I probably wouldn’t be aching all over and..._

Coughing, she looked down at herself and stiffened, realizing that she didn’t recognize her clothing any more than she did her location.

_Who did this? _

Someone had changed her out of her familiar, well-worn clothing and into an outfit consisting of black leggings, sturdy lace-up boots, a grey shirt, a sleeveless black undershirt, and a dark blue coat made of what felt like water-resistant material. Even her underclothes felt different. And around her wrist was a sort of narrow, seamless metal shackle, loose enough to slide around but not enough to fit over her hand.

A wave of panic crashed over Abby as she began to put the pieces together. _The shadow...from some aircraft…the pinprick feeling...a tranquilizer dart? Someone knocked me out, changed my clothes, dropped me wherever this is...Did they do the same to Marcus? Or did they…_

She couldn’t even finish the thought. _No. He has to be okay. _Images of Clarke, Octavia, Sinclair, and all the others, both inside Arkadia and out, flashed through her mind._ They all have to be okay. I’ll find them…I’ll find a way back. _On impulse, she reached up to grip Jake’s ring and froze when she found it and its chain weren’t there. The tingling numbness grew when she realized that her own wedding ring was missing, too.

_No, I can’t have lost them, not now...Please let this be a dream…_

But her dreams never felt quite like this.

Forcing herself not to give in to the fearful sick feeling rising in her gut, she turned fully around for the first time to find a single large, crumbling tree stump a few feet behind her. Sitting on it was a small black backpack. After another glance a her surroundings…_Still no one_...Abby moved to the stump and cautiously opened the pack. Inside, she found only a box of matches, a razor-sharp knife with a six-inch blade secured in a leather sheath, and a water bottle.

The bottle was full of cool water, and Abby downed several desperate gulps, which soothed her aching throat somewhat. _I should save some, though, just in case…_

With her thirst handled for the moment, Abby took a few deep breaths and looked around again, considering her options. “First thing’s first, find out where I am,” she said aloud. Her eyes fell on the nearby path. _Paths usually lead to something. _“So I’ll follow it.”

Pragmatism in the face of likely dire circumstances had served her well in the past, after all.

* * *

About an hour later, she was still alone, out of water, and truly beginning to panic as the weight of the situation hit her.

_I’ve been captured by an unknown group of people, left in an unknown place with next to no supplies; I don’t know where Marcus is, while back in Arkadia, our people are in almost certainly danger from inside and out. And I have no idea what is happening here or why. I’m not even sure how long I was unconscious. _

She stopped, concentrating on slowing her breathing and shivering slightly as a cold breeze rustled through the trees. _Is it just me, or are the trees thinner up ahead?_

It wasn’t just her; the forest thinned and drew back from the path as it continued onward. Before long, Abby found herself walking through a widening meadow filled with long grasses tiny blue-and-white flowers. _It’s beautiful_, she thought, making the conscious decision to focus on her surroundings, for more reasons than one. _Stay alive, that’s step one_, she told herself as she started off again at a brisk pace._ Although, I haven’t seen anything actually frightening yet…_

Birds fluttered in the trees, and the occasional squirrel darted across the path; otherwise, she was still completely alone. The ground, previously flat, began to roll somewhat, and despite the cool air, Abby started sweating under her new clothes. Her lips and throat grew dry, and considering that the sound of running water from earlier fading did nothing to help when the clinical part of her mind began repeating all of her medical knowledge regarding dehydration. _I should’ve gone for water earlier, but I would have had to leave the path..._Her sense of direction wasn’t the best.

Just as she was seriously entertaining the idea of leaving the path and heading in the direction of the water sounds, sense of direction or lack of it be damned, she reached the top of a little hill and found that the path split into two. One branch curved away to the right along the receding edge of the woods, while the other led left through what seemed to be oddly straight rows of trees. Abby could just make out something beyond them. _A wall? Maybe a building? Maybe...people? _

That aside, the sound of the stream or river came consistently from the left, so the logical choice was obvious. “Left it is,” she muttered, adjusting her pack over her shoulders and heading down the hill.

After a few months of being on the ground, there were still a multitude of things that Abby did not really know about Earth. But even she could recognize the straight rows of trees for what they were when she reached them. _An orchard. About ready to go into bloom, too. Yet the trees don’t look cared for..._Most of them, huge and gnarled, looked very old. _Pity it’s not harvest season..._Her stomach was beginning to feel painfully hollow.

Soon, however, the trees were the least of her concerns as she reached the stone wall she had seen from a distance. Ten feet tall at least, the structure surrounded a village of wood-and-stone houses. The path Abby had followed led straight to the wide-open gate.

Inside, nothing moved.

_An abandoned village. _Abby hesitantly stepped towards the entrance. _It doesn’t look like the Grounder clan villages. It looks more like pictures from before the bombs...only more old-fashioned…_

Up close, the dirt streets were overgrown and the buildings...mostly modest houses and storage buildings...showed clear signs of wear; loose stones and boards lay all over the place. Nothing stirred as Abby made her way to the village center, where a single large, rectangular building stood in the middle of an open space. _Some kind of meetinghouse, I suppose…_

She peeked inside the large building’s gaping windows and saw nothing but dusty benches and crumbling shelves. Moving on through more rows of houses, she found that the back part of the stone wall was beaten down to low piles of rubble, revealing a sloping bank and the sources of the water sounds behind it. The village seemed nestled in the curve of a deep, placid river. On the opposite side of it, another forest loomed, darker and more menacing than the one Abby had traveled through earlier, with tangled undergrowth spilling out onto the bank.

She watched the towering trees across the river as she sat down for a rest, sipping water from her refilled bottle. _No one there, either….not that I can see..._Of course, someone could be hiding, watching without her knowing.

The idea that someone could be spying on her made her skin prickle, and the sensation didn’t go away when she went back into the village. She considered calling out again, just in case someone friendly could hear, but the silence felt too heavy for that.

The sun had already passed its midpoint in the cloud-dotted sky, and though the sunset was surely a while off, Abby began considering what to do when night fell. A very insistent part of her wanted to keep investigating the surrounding area in order to figure out where _here_ was and to find..._anyone_, really, but Marcus in particular. Yet she knew she might very well have to stay put, at least for a night. _It’s going to be cold. Well, I have matches, plenty of wood for a fire, and lots of shelters to choose from. It’s manageable._

With shelter and water not an issue, food was her next concern; her hands were beginning to shake and her vision kept blurring at the edges. Further exploration of the village resulted in her finding a number of unkempt gardens, mostly filled with dead plants or barely sprouted ones. However, she did find some misshapen root vegetables, ones that she could safely eat raw even if their tough, aged skins nearly broke her teeth. She forgot all about the useful knife in her pack until after she’d downed at least three of the roots.

Tasteless and ultimately unsatisfying as the meal was, a mostly-full stomach was preferable to an empty one, and it was with renewed energy and determination that she set about finding a place to spend the night. The meetinghouse seemed the most structurally stable, so she ended up there, relying on the multiple gaps in the roof for ventilation as she built a small fire on the cracked stone floor. The broken parts of the old benches burned well.

As twilight fell and then deepened, Abby stoked the fire and curled up on the floor, pillowing her head on her backpack. _Tomorrow, I’ll follow that other path. I’ll look for Marcus...for a way home…_Exhaustion dragged her into surprisingly deep sleep before she could think of much more than that.

She woke up to someone’s hands around her throat.


	3. Boy in a Tree

Abby’s immediate reaction to being strangled was to scream, only that didn’t work for obvious reasons. Her next reaction was to claw at the hands encircling her throat, which didn’t work either as the woman on top of her seemed to have a steel grip.

Abby’s third reaction served her better. With her assailant kneeling directly over her, she bent her legs and kicked out as hard as she could.

The attacker’s grip was broken, by force or surprise or both, and she fell backwards, leaving Abby gasping. Then a scream rent the air; the other woman had fallen on what was left of the fire.

_The coals must still be hot. _Heart thundering in her chest, Abby scrambled back, just managing to grab her backpack as she leaped to her feet and fled, running faster than she ever had in her life.

Outside, a thick morning mist obscured much of the village. At the nearest house row of houses, Abby paused, heavy breaths tearing through her aching throat. _Who…_

She heard a noise behind her and turned to find her attacker emerging from the large building, her long blonde hair hanging loose over her battered blue coat and her expression feral. She gripped a broken, pointed piece of wood in one hand.

Abby pictured what could feasibly happen if that piece of wood were to be lodged into her gut and followed her immediate instinct to _get the hell out_.

Her attacker followed.

Weaving through the crumbling houses and tripping over ruts and piles of debris, Abby made for the main gate, struggling to catch her breath through the burning in her throat. She could hear her pursuer’s footsteps, then her ragged breathing, then they were out among the orchards and the blonde woman was tackling Abby to the ground. Moments passed in a blur of desperate clawing, biting, and grappling for the makeshift wooden weapon.

Among the frantic, mindless struggle, Abby had one coherent thought. _I’m going to lose. _

Then the other woman shrieked in pain again, rearing back. Abby took the chance to shove her off and reached for the backpack, again allowing blind instinct to guide her actions.

Seconds or minutes or hours later, the doctor slumped backwards against the nearest tree, the bloodstained knife falling from her shaking hands, her gaze locked on the blonde woman gurgling out her last breath a few feet away.

A faint ringing started up in Abby’s ears, growing louder and louder, drowning out the rasping of her breaths and the beating of her heart until the whole world was the ringing, the body on the grass, and a silent, endless scream of denial.

_What did I just do no no no this can’t be happening no no what I didn’t mean no I didn’t want I just wanted…_

She’d just wanted to survive. With that understanding, her mind went horribly quiet.

Under the layers of dirt and blood from her lacerated neck, the blonde woman looked young, far younger than Abby. She also looked too thin, her cheeks hollow and her tattered clothing hanging off her motionless frame. Despite being lifeless, her half-open eyes were a lovely shade of light blue.

She also had an arrow sticking out of her shoulder, which confused Abby for a minute. _I don’t have any arrows. But she cried out, faltered, before I...Someone else…_

The knife was back in her hand and she was on her feet in seconds, looking around wildly. “Hello?” she choked out. “Who’s there?”

A twig snapped, drawing her gaze upward to another tree in the next row.

There was a boy in the tree, balanced among the branches high above her head. He peered down at her, clutching a bow in one hand. “Hello,” he said, cautiously.

The sound of another person’s voice, of an actual word spoken by another human being, brought involuntary tears to Abby’s eyes. She blinked them away and lowered her knife. “You...you saved me?”

The boy seemed to shrink back into the shadows of the leaves. “I was just...trying to help. She...she attacked me, too. A couple days ago.”

“I...Thank you.” She swallowed, willing herself not to look at the corpse. “I won’t hurt you. You can come down. If you want.”

After a long moment of hesitation, he nodded, slung his bow over his shoulder with his backpack, and climbed down to the tree far more swiftly than Abby expected, fumbling a bit with his landing. Once on the ground, he approached her slowly, still keeping his distance.

_I don’t blame him. _She tried to smile nonetheless. “I’m Abby. What’s your name?”

He brushed back his reddish-brown bangs and said, “I’m...I’m Jonathan.” Frowning, he tilted his head. “What Quarter are you from?”

“I...what? I don’t...Quarter?”

“Which _Quarter_. Delacour, Aberdeen, Lan...” He trailed off, and suddenly his vivid blue eyes widened. “Oh. You’re an Outdweller, aren’t you?”

“A what?”

“An Outdweller. Most of them aren’t much like you, though, so I thought...” He seemed to sway a little, his gaze becoming unfocused for a second.

_He’s too pale, _Abby realized. _His skin’s practically grey where it's not flushed, and it’s not just the lighting. _Automatically, she stepped forward. “Are you feeling okay? You look...”

Shying away, he mumbled, “I...Yes, no, I mean...Circe got in a blow the other day...It’s fine...”

_Circe. That woman. She has..had a name. _Abby pushed the thought away and gently took hold of Jonathan’s arms, getting a good look at him. _He looks Clarke’s age, maybe even a little younger…_She checked his pulse. _Irregular. _“Why don’t you sit down and let me take a look.”

It took a few minutes of prodding to get the now-dazed teenager..._The adrenaline must have worn off..._to put aside his bow, almost empty quiver of arrows, and backpack aside. It took even longer to get him to take off his filthy coat. Underneath, Abby found that his dirty grey shirt and black undershirt were clinging to gash just under his rib cage. “This happened a couple days ago?”

“Yeah, down by the river...I knocked her knife in...and then ran like hell...” Jonathan winced as she pried cloth away from his injury. “She’s been hanging around the village for the last few weeks, like it’s her territory...”

Pulling her full water bottle, Abby set it aside in order to look into Jonathan’s pack; it seemed fuller than hers. Inside, she found a rolled-up blanket, a knife identical to her own, a half-full water bottle, and bag which she suspected held food but decided not to mess with yet. “Is the...Was Circe the only person staying in the village?” she asked as she picked up the water bottles. _Get the wound clean first, then assess. _

“That I know of...Ow!” He jerked away as Abby began using the water to clean the gash. “I did that.”

“Not well enough. Why didn’t you bandage it, keep it covered?”

“With what?”

Abby sighed. “I know it’s cold out here, but you need to take your shirts off for a minute, okay?” _And I need something to bandage that injury with…_

While Jonathan gingerly complied with her instructions, she also stripped down, taking off her undershirt and replacing her grey shirt and coat as quickly as possible. Then, using Jonathan’s knife to aid her...hers was still covered in blood...she began tearing the garment into strips.

“That’s not smart,” Jonathan commented. “Nights are cold here.”

“I noticed. But it’s early spring, right? It’s only going to get warmer.” _Or at least I think that’s how it works. _

She managed to get Jonathan’s injury cleaned and bandaged to an extent, though she remained worried about lack of medication and how warm his skin felt. As he was putting his shirts back on, she investigated the bag in his pack. It did contain food: berries, dried meat, and a few broken crackers. Even with the stale smell from all of it, her stomach growled. _Though...where did he get it?_ “We should go back to the village. There’s shelter, and you need to rest if you’re going to heal.”

“You can have some food first,” Jonathan said as he stood up, unsteadily. “I heard your stomach. I’m not hungry.”

“That’s a bad sign,” Abby said, putting a cracker in her mouth. She nearly spat it back out when Jonathan wobbled over to Circe’s body and yanked his arrow out of it. “What...nothing,” she said, turning away when he looked at her questioningly. _No waste. It’s...smart, even if…_

She finished the crackers and drank some water, but keeping it all down proved difficult. Especially when Jonathan, now leaning against a tree, suggested they take Circe’s coat before they went back to the village. “We could use it. I don’t see her pack, though...”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with that.”

“Why? She’s not using it, she’s dead, and...” He stopped, grimacing. “I’m sorry. Most Outdwellers don’t act like that when they kill someone...they’re more brutal...” His eyes fluttered shut.

All the questions on the tip of Abby’s tongue died when the boy’s legs gave out. “Jonathan?” She rushed forward, pulling him back upright; for the first time, he leaned into her. _He probably has no choice. _“Hey, listen to me. We need to get back to the village, okay? I can’t carry you, so you’re going to have to walk. Then you can rest. Can you stay awake long enough to get there?”

He pulled back, looked down at her. “You’re nice,” he said dazedly, then shook himself. “Yeah, I...I can make it.”

* * *

The rest of the day and the following few were...not great.

It took a while, but Abby managed to get Jonathan back to the meetinghouse. How he had managed so well for the last couple days while getting sick from an infected wound she didn’t know, but within hours after their meeting, he was practically dependent on her. _It’s lucky we found each other when we did...lucky for both of us._

When she had Jonathan settled, she left him with their supplies and went back out to find Circe’s body, for reasons she wasn’t completely sure of. When she got there, Circe was gone, but the coat was lying folded where her corpse had been.

Somehow, that terrified Abby more than anything else. _Someone _is_ watching. _

It also stopped her from trying to pry off the shackle on her wrist. She had a feeling it was more that in seemed and decided to ignore its existence.

Jonathan’s fever spiked that night, and he kept drifting in and out of consciousness as Abby watched him between tending the small fire, fetching water, looking for enemies, and scouring the village for food and anything else that would be useful. She did find some more edible things, an old metal pan and some utensils, and a couple medicinal plants that she recognized from trips to the woods around Arkadia with Lincoln.

Remembering the noble Grounder and how he had died hurt. Remembering that somewhere, Marcus, her people, and her child were fighting and possibly dying while she could do nothing to help hurt. Remembering that she still had no idea where she was or who was watching her or what any of _this_ meant hurt. She had virtually nothing to hold on to.

_I’m so damn helpless..._

The one thing she knew she _could_ do in this situation was try to save the life of the strange boy who had saved hers. So she threw herself into that, rationing what little food there was for an extended stay and only catching a couple hours of light sleep when she absolutely had to.

At one point, she allowed herself to recall the blurred moments in which she had slit Circe’s throat and threw up her latest meager meal behind the meetinghouse. She didn’t let herself think about it after that.

The medicinal plants helped bring Jonathan’s fever down, and on the fourth morning after their first meeting, while rain pattered on the roof and dripped through the cracks, he was able to sit up and eat a little. He kept apologizing profusely for being a burden, which Abby might have found a bit amusing if she hadn’t spent the last few days with nothing but her own fears and Jonathan’s delirious mumbling for company.

“I hope I didn’t say anything too embarrassing,” he said with a crooked smile when she mentioned it.

“I couldn’t understand most of it. You asked for your mother a lot.” _Another thing that hurts, because it reminds me…_

“Oh, that makes sense.” Jonathan looked down at the chopped roots he was supposed to be eating. “I miss her,” he said in a small voice.

Abby bit her lip. “Can I ask what happened to her?”

“She’s at home. Probably watching me when she can...I hope she’s holding up okay. I’ve been in here for almost six months, I think...”

Abby stiffened. “How would she be watching you? And..._in here_?” When he glanced at her confusedly, she said, “You didn’t have time to explain much before the infection got the better of you.”

“Didn’t you read the letter? I’m assuming you can read...”

“I can, but...What letter?”

“The one in your coat pocket. Most Outdwellers don’t read them, but...” Jonathan leaned forward and reached inside her unzipped coat, fumbling with a small inner pocket Abby honestly hadn’t noticed before. She took over from there, opening it and pulling out an envelope containing a neatly folded piece of paper covered in elegant handwriting.

She looked at Jonathan. “The answers to why we’re wherever this is, what’s happening, what an Outdweller is supposed to be...They’re in here?”

He slumped tiredly, eyes closing. “Should be.”

_Right under my nose the entire time. _Abby shook her head and unfolded the letter. _Finally, I’m going to get answers. _

Yet, somehow, she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted them.


	4. The Letter

Abby hadn’t been planning on leaving Arkadia. She’d helped free the prisoners due to be executed, but at the door to the secret passageway out of the settlement, she’d been planning to turn back. Marcus had understood, even if he hadn’t liked it. Their people had needed at least one of them. _To show them the way out of the dark._

But somewhere in the middle of their first...and possibly last...reckless and wonderful kiss, Pike’s guards had come too close. If Abby had been caught that near to where the prisoners had gone missing, she would have been as good as dead, or at least declared an enemy.

Fleeing still felt like cowardice, especially after the radio message they’d received halfway down the passage and Lincoln’s heartbreaking choice to tranquilize Octavia so he could go back.

“_I should’ve stayed. Who will keep an eye on Thelonious with _both_ of us gone? I don’t know if Jackson...Who will keep protecting the sick Grounders from Pike? Who...”_

“_Abby, you had no choice. He would have killed you like he killed Lincoln.”_

Out in the woods with the rest of the “rebels”, she had felt rather useless. She could treat injuries, yes, but she would have been more use in Arkadia. Hiding, most likely facing even darker days than those before, while Clarke was doing goodness-knew-what to keep the Coalition together and while the rest of the Arkadians were left at the mercy of Pike and Jaha, had made Abby feel like everything she’d tried to do in the past was worthless. Her mistakes had caused catastrophes; her actions and herself hadn’t been good enough to save her people. If she couldn’t save them, _she_ was worthless. And what she tried to do was pointless.

She had felt that way after the flight from Arkadia, in the quiet, empty moments when there was nothing to do but wait and think. After reading the letter Jonathan had so kindly pointed out to her, that feeling got worse.

* * *

_Dear Sir or Madam,_

_Welcome to the Amphitheater!_

_If you are a resident of the Province, then you are well aware of why you are here and what is expected of you. If you are not, and by some fortunate happenstance can actually read these words, then please continue for an explanation of your current circumstances._

_At the outbreak of the war that ended the old world, four prominent families...the Delacours, the Aberdeens, the Cobalts, and the Lancasters...with access to considerable resources came together to save as many worthy people as possible from the chaos. In the years that followed, they founded the Province, a safe, secure nation of four Quarters, ruled justly by the lead families and at peace with each other. In the chaos of this post-apocalyptic world, it is a sanctuary of civilization. _

_Some time after the establishment of the Province, the Amphitheater was created to contain the dangerous criminal elements that threatened the stability of the nation. Those who would surrender to their worst instincts and inclinations are able to do so within the Amphitheater without harming innocents outside. All crimes above a certain level, no matter which Quarter they are committed in, have the same sentence. _

_Built over several square miles where the four Quarters are connected, the Amphitheater is remains a punishment and deterrent to anyone who may or may wish to commit serious crimes within the borders of this country. One such serious crime is trespass and other damage by non-citizens. _

_Once inside the Amphitheater, there is no escape for a prisoner. The walls are impenetrable. You have been provided with basic supplies and will be tracked via the bracelet you now wear on your right wrist. Cameras are also positioned in select places. You may live, die, or kill as you wish; there are no laws inside the Amphitheater. _

_I would wish you good luck, but you deserve this, after all. _

_Most Sincerely,_

_Plato Delacour_

_Amphitheater Director since NE 77_

* * *

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” Jonathan said when he woke up around mid-afternoon. “I meant to stay awake while you read, but...”

“It’s fine; you’re recovering.” Looking down at the now-wrinkled letter in her hands, Abby added, “It didn’t answer everything.”

“Right, it’s not _that _detailed. I read mine, too, even though I didn’t need to.” Jonathan sat up and crossed his legs. “A lot of it is bullshit. Oops, sorry.” He grinned fleetingly. “But it is. The Quarters aren’t equal, for one thing. The Delacours have always been on top, them and their citizens. They have the most land, the most luxuries, the most power...The other three families might have gotten rid of the Amphitheater years ago if it weren’t for them...At least, that’s what Mom says.”

“I see. This Plato person, then…?”

“One of that family. They love this.” Jonathan waved his hand around. “The cameras? They say it’s for security. But a lot of people...mostly in the Delacour Quarter...like to watch. It’s available to the public most of the time. I guess they think it’s entertaining, watching people starve and go crazy and murder each other.”

Abby glanced at him, remember what he’d said earlier. _His mother’s probably watching..._ “And some watch because their loved ones are inside?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” Jonathan’s shoulders hunched. “It just used to be a prison, you know? For murderers and bad people...Now it’s this whole..._thing_. Some of the viewers will pay for supplies to be dropped it...to make it go longer for some, to start more fights...Speaking out against the Amphitheater, means you probably end up inside. If you commit a minor crime more than once, you end up inside. If it gets too boring, they capture Outdwellers like you and drop them inside. A lot of them don’t act like they can read...they don’t even speak English right, and they’re.. really, really terrifying, even if they don’t deserve this, either.”

“I bet most of them are warriors.” _Like from the clans. _“So, trespass is the excuse for that?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Abby frowned. “Jonathan, where is the Province, exactly? Is it closer to the east coast of North America or the west?”

Straightening up, he said, “Definitely the west. There’s this mountain range along the western border of the Delacour and Cobalt Quarters. On the other side of those mountains is the Pacific Ocean.” He ducked his head. “I always got good marks in geography class.”

_Picturing that on an old map...We missed a lot from space, didn’t we? _Abby let out an involuntary hiss, hot rage sparking inside her chest. “Then you’re right about..._this_...being bullshit. Marcus and I were practically on the east coast when we were captured.”

“Who’s Marcus?”

_We really know next to nothing about each other, don’t we? Yet we saved each other..._Abby took a deep breath and said, “Marcus is my...friend. We were running from our people...their newest leader wanted us dead...and we got separated from our allies. Then there was this giant shadow from above...the next thing I knew, I was here...here in the Amphitheater.” _A place where people, both good and bad, are left to die with no hope._

“Long-distance aircraft,” Jonathan said. “The shadow, I mean.” He hesitated. “They never drop two new prisoners in the same place. If they caught him, then he should be somewhere in here.”

Abby felt a rush of relief at this. “You think so?”

“Definitely. There’s not many people in here right now, or big wild animals, so his chances are better...We can find him.” Jonathan gave her a small smile. “If he’s half as tough as you, he’ll probably make it for a while.

Abby scoffed. “He’s much stronger than me.” _I swear I’ll find you, Marcus, just as soon as…_“You said ‘we’.”

“Sorry, I just...” Jonathan’s fingers twisted together in his lap. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen anyone who didn’t want to kill me, and after you fixed me up, I...I just thought...”

She reached out and took his hands in hers before he could finish his sentence. “Jonathan, you saved my life first. We’ll stick together.” She caught his eye and smiled. “I think we’ll make a good team.”

He smiled back, his too-thin face lighting up for a moment. “Okay.”

* * *

With the cut on his side mostly healed and his fever gone, Jonathan recovered quickly, and by Abby’s seventh day in the Amphitheater, he was up and eager to get moving. “Staying in one place for too long isn’t the best idea.”

“You’re right. Besides, we need to find more food.” Abby chuckled as the boy darted ahead as they left the village. “Don’t overdo it!” she called after him.

_Having someone to talk to and to watch over makes all the difference_. It gave her something to concentrate on. Something other than...everything. 

Since he’d woken up fully, Jonathan had proved that he could be very talkative. By listening more than speaking herself, Abby had soon learned a number of things, including the fact that Jonathan was from the Lancaster Quarter of the Province, had turned seventeen during the previous winter, had learned to use a bow and arrows as a child, preferred cool weather to warm, and loved his mother more than anyone else in the world. He’d never known his father. “I don’t think Mom ever liked him much,” was how he explained it.

He didn’t seem eager to discuss why he was in the Amphitheater, though. When Abby asked directly, he just said, “I didn’t do what they said I did.”

He also turned out to be far more useful than Abby in a lot of ways. He knew much of the Amphitheater’s layout, recognized more useful and edible plants than she did, and easily brought down a squirrel for their first dinner outside of the village. The fresh meat, even unseasoned and almost raw, tasted too incredible for words.

The path Abby hadn’t taken on her first day went along a strip of land between the river and a slowly rising rocky cliff. As Jonathan explained over dinner, there were actually two rivers entering the Amphitheater… “The Moraine and the Violet rivers”...both coming from westerly directions and joining together just east of the village. “Outside, to the west, they form most of the Delacour-Cobalt and Cobalt-Aberdeen borders. To the east, the Province River makes part of the Delacour-Lancaster border.”

Inside the Amphitheater, which seemingly wasn’t built in any particular shape, the land was hilly and mostly open in the furthest eastern section. Most of it, however, was covered in thick forest.

“The worst is the area between the Moraine and Violet, just before they meet up. You probably saw it from the village.”

“It was dark,” Abby agreed. “Didn’t look very welcoming.”

Jonathan shuddered. “It’s one of those things that got manipulated while the Amphitheater was being constructed. It’s basically a giant maze. I went in once, not far, and that was enough. I’ll stick to the western half. Fewer giant blackberry vines and no Maxim Bronze pretending he’s a king.”

Maxim Bronze had been in the Amphitheater for almost three years, a relatively long time. He had taken up residence at the castle...apparently there was a sort of old model castle among the hills...and got along rather well by being entertaining for the Amphitheater-enthusiasts and earning extra supplies. And killing people if they ventured into his territory, he did that, too.

“He has this woman with him since early last year, Jasmine...They’re both insane and...involved. With each other. Then there’s this guy from the Cobalt Quarter...He likes the most southern area...something about getting high off poppies? I’ve only seen him from a distance; he was singing to himself the one time...Then there was Circe Chambers, and me...I’m pretty new, actually. There were a couple others who died during the winter; I saw their bodies before they were lifted out...Unless they added some people that I haven’t seen yet, which is possible, then it was just those until they added you and your friend Marcus.”

_And I killed Circe..._Abby looked down at her fingers, recalling them curled around a bloody knife. Her stomach churned. “Circe...Where was she from?”

“Delacour Quarter. Jasmine, too. Maxim is from the Aberdeen Quarter, I think...”

“Do you know why she was in here?”

“Um...I think they said she stabbed some guy?” Jonathan shrugged. “My mom didn’t let me watch anything about the Amphitheater most of the time.”

_I wouldn’t let my kid do so, either, not if I could help it._

She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Jonathan asked, “You have kids?”

“Just one. My daughter Clarke.” Abby pressed her lips together, willing herself not to tear up. “I...I don’t know where she is, exactly. Or if she’s okay...” _Or if she’s even still alive. I don’t know if any of them are still alive. _

Jonathan tilted his head to the side. “You’re not like most Outdwellers. You’re...you’re completely different from them. Why is that?”

Abby sighed heavily. “It’s a long story...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos :)


	5. King and Queen

They reached the large arching stone bridge across the Moraine River around noon the next day. Just upriver, a waterfall crashed over a section of the long cliff, and up ahead the main path wound away through hills and scattered trees towards a looming grey shape, shrouded in the persistent mist.

Crouched behind some bushes by the bridge, Abby watched Jonathan climb up onto the broad railing of the bridge for a better look of the land ahead. He’d been withdrawn all morning...since the previous evening, in fact, when she’d told him about the Ark, the hundred delinquents, the following journey to the ground, the war with Mount Weather, the brief peace that followed, and how it had all fallen apart. She didn’t give every detail, yet, even to her, the story sounded overwhelming.

Jonathan had said as much, then added, “I don’t think you’re lying,” followed by, “We should get some sleep,” and not much else. As with the last few nights, he used his blanket and Abby, despite the nauseated feeling she got every time, covered herself with Circe’s cleaned-off coat, which trapped heat surprisingly well.

She hoped that night’s sleep had helped Jonathan more than it had helped her. She’d had a dream about Circe’s death, only at the last moment the blonde woman had turned into Marcus. Regular practice at waking up from nightmares had just prevented her from all-out screaming when she’d jolted awake, mind filled with images of lifeless dark eyes and her hands covered in Marcus’s blood. She’d managed to muffled her cry with her fist and had only dozed after that.

_The longer the sleep, the more numerous the dreams. _And she could hardly remember the last time she’d had a good one.

Jonathan jumped down from the railing and came hurrying over before she could dwell on that further. “Coast is clear. For now.”

“Okay.” Abby followed him back to the bridge, pausing to admire how well the worn stones still fit together. _Whoever built it must have known what they were doing. _

Once across the bridge, Jonathan insisted that they leave the path, at least for a while. “It kind of doubles back further south before going into the deeper woods...I was dropped off in that area, so maybe...But right now the path goes more or less straight to the castle gates, and...Well, I’ve never met Maxim Bronze face-to-face, and I want to keep it that way.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” The castle, with its high circular wall and bulky rectangular tower, look foreboding enough on its own.

They made their way southwest through hilly fields of long grasses, making occasional stops and detours to collect edible and medicinal plants. “You can’t be too careful,” Abby said as she carefully stored some of the latter in her back. “Herbs like these probably saved your life.”

“True.” Jonathan slung his bow over his shoulder and picked a long dark green leaf of a plant that he seemed familiar with. He nibbled at it and grimaced. “Ugh. Bitter.”

“You’re sure it’s okay to eat?”

“Very sure. My mother loves this stuff.” Jonathan made another face. “It tastes better cooked in something.”

Abby tried some. It was very bitter, but then again..._It’ll probably help keep us alive in a pinch._

Staying alive, finding Marcus. That was all she could let herself think about right now. _And protecting Jonathan. _Somehow, in the past few days, that had become very important. _The rest...whatever there is...will follow. _

Coming out of his uncommunicative mood, Jonathan provided a welcome distraction by rambling on about the life outside the Amphitheater and what he missed about it while they walked. “The main town in the Lancaster Quarter is built where the Province River runs into Summer Lake...Which is massive, I mean, several times larger than the Amphitheater...On really hot days, Mom and I can dive right off the back porch into the lake...My friend Gus did it wrong once and nearly bashed his head open on a rock...Sometimes it gets so cold that the lake freezes over...Up north the shore’s all covered in the most beautiful forest you can imagine...That’s where Mom taught me to use a bow...Lancaster’s the smallest Quarter, but at least it’s in better shape than Aberdeen up north...The main town in the Cobalt Quarter is almost entirely _underground_, can you imagine that? I wouldn’t want to live there...I think I’d suffocate. What’s living in space like?”

The question caught Abby off guard. “Oh, I...It’s...it’s very different. From down here.”

Grinning, Jonathan said, “Well, obviously, it’s _space_._”_

Smiling, Abby shook her head and reached out to ruffle his hair. As he chuckled and ducked away, she said, “It’s cold, and grey, and...after being on the ground for a while, I remember it as so...so _small_.” She tilted her head back, looking at the starless daytime sky, still mostly concealed by clouds. “Life was hard up there, but it was...simple, in a way. We all knew our places, what we had to do to survive...There were fewer choices to make. For a long time, I had a happy life up there.” _The ground has been almost entirely made up of one nightmare after another. _

After a pause, Jonathan said, “It’s weird, how people have different versions of what equals _happy_. Living in a space station sounds horrible to me, no matter who I was with. I think I’d die without warm sunlight or trees or...you get the idea. But you were okay. Until things got bad, of course.”

“Well, not completely okay,” Abby admitted, absently running her hand over her ponytail. “Sometimes I’d look down on Earth and feel this...this _longing_. It never really went away. For anyone, I think.”

“I guess that makes sense; you’re whole reason for living up there was so that...” Jonathan halted, frozen for a couple seconds, then grabbed Abby’s arm and roughly dragged her down into the grass on the hillside.

She soon understood why.

“I told you I saw something!” said someone with a nasally male voice.

_They’re right on the other side of this one hill...Damn it..._

“You’ve been nothing but trouble since you got here.” This speaker’s voice rumbled. “I should break your neck right now. Then, it might be too easy on someone your size...”

“Oh, Maxim, darling, don’t do that.” The woman’s voice sounded sickly-sweet, and her words were followed by a high-pitched giggled. “It’s been so_ nice_, having a servant.”

Abby glanced at Jonathan, who mouthed, _Maxim and Jasmine. _

_The other one? s_he mouthed back.

He shook his head. _No idea._

“My love, wouldn’t it be more entertaining if we...”

“No! We just got him, and I want to keep him for a while!” Abby could hear Jasmine’s pout in her voice. “You can kill him next month.”

“I’m standing right here!”

Maxim and Jasmine spoke together. “_Shut up!_” Then Jasmine said, “We should be getting ready for dinner right now, not hunting who-knows-who...”

“I recognized the boy, even from a distance. It’s the Lancaster brat.” A spitting sound. “The woman, I don’t know.”

Maxim called the other man an idiot while Abby thought, _Please let them just walk away..._

“I told you...” The man with the nasally voice let out a shrill yelp as he crested the hill...directly above Jonathan and Abby.

The teenager was on his feet and sprinting away in a second. Abby, a little slower, barely stood before she was tackled back to the ground.

_Not again! _She struggled, but the black-haired woman on top of her was considerably taller and stronger. She wore two of those blue coats one on top of the other, the implications of which Abby didn’t want to think about. “My, my, what do we have here?” Jasmine said, green eyes glittering.

“Net, come and help me catch the brat!” Maxim bellowed from somewhere nearby, and Abby glimpsed a wiry figure charging off in the direction of the call. _They’re going after Jonathan..._Again she twisted violently in Jasmine’s grip, but the other woman held firm.

“You’re feisty. We like that around here.” Baring her teeth, Jasmine managed to hold Abby down with her legs and one arm while pulling out one of the Amphitheater’s familiar knives. “Maybe we should make you a servant, too? It would be lovely to have a set...But I don’t know if Maxim’s patience would extend to two...” Expression morphing into one of mock seriousness, Jasmine tapped her lips lightly with the flat side of her knife blade. “No, I suppose not. And you might not behave after we deal with your young ally. _Do_ stop wriggling!” Jasmine put the knife to Abby’s throat, bringing a swift end to her futile struggle. “Because I’m curious, which Quarter?”

“None of your business,” Abby spat, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart and straining her ears for any sound that resembled Jonathan’s voice. _Nothing yet. Maybe he got away...Don’t let this madwoman go after him, too... _“How long have you had your whiny servant?”

“Ooh, you really are feisty for your age! Though I’m just assuming; looks can be deceiving...” Jasmine giggled again. “Net’s been around for a couple weeks. He’s pathetic, but, like I said earlier, it’s nice to have a servant. Now, I promise to make this quick...” She lifted the knife. “I do hate messy deaths...”

“I’m a doctor,” Abby blurted out. When Jasmine hesitated, she quickly added, “I’m a doctor, and a damn good one. Jonathan was injured and sick when I met him; I saved him. I can be useful.”

Sitting back...and all but crushing Abby’s kneecaps in the process...Jasmine adopted another thoughtful look, this one seemingly more real. “Doctors can be useful...and are rare...” Her expression flickered for a moment. “I don’t believe we need one at this particular time, _but_...” With a toss of her head, she climbed off of Abby and stood up, daintily dusting off her leggings and layered coats. “I have a proposition. I will let you go now, if, and only if, you promise that should Maxim and I need a doctor, you will come and help, alone and with no questions asked. We’ll find a way to let you know.”

“I...Yes.” Abby pushed herself to her feet, meeting Jasmine’s gaze squarely. “I promise...If I learn that you need medical help, I will be there.” _That’s what a doctor is supposed to do, right_? “No questions asked. But you have to get Maxim to let Jonathan go, too.”

Jasmine laughed. “That wasn’t part of the deal, _doctor_. We’ll see.” She sauntered off in the general direction of the castle, shouting to the wind, “Maxim, darling! Net, you idiot! Where are you? Are you almost done? I’m hungry!”

The instant the crazy woman was around the hill, Abby fled in the opposite direction.

She stopped sometime later, when she reached the trees that began the “maze forest.” Seeing no sign of Maxim, Jasmine, or Net, Abby struggled to catch her breath and, as soon as possible, shouted, “Jonathan!”

No answer.

She started along the treeline, headed east. “Jonathan!” she shouted again. _Please, let him be okay…and please let Maxim and the others be at the castle by now..._“Jonathan, can you...”

“Abby!”

_Up ahead. _Her heart seemed to leap in her chest. “Jonathan!”

She could see him, rounding a small grove of trees with another figure on his heels. “I’m here!” she called, voice cracking.

“_Abby!_” It wasn’t Jonathan’s voice this time.

“_Marcus!_”


	6. Reunion

In most any other situation, Abby would have tried to keep some semblance of dignity and refrained from literally throwing herself into Marcus Kane’s arms. But considering the insanity of the last week or so, she really didn’t give a shit. The longing she’d been holding at bay for days came crashing down alongside the sheer relief, and it sent her running for him like a maniac.

He stumbled back momentarily as he caught her in his arms, then regained his footing and returned her embrace so tightly that she could hear her bones creak. _I don’t care about that, either. _Burying her face in his shoulder and letting out a half-laugh, half-sob, she closed her eyes, feeling completely safe for the first time in a very long while. _Thank God..._

It took her a minute to realize that Marcus was speaking, whispering the same words over and over into her hair. “You’re okay, I found you, you’re okay...”

“I’m okay,” she confirmed, pulling away just far enough to check him over for injuries. Other than his Amphitheater clothing and his hair and beard being a little more wild, he looked the same as the last time she’d seen him. “Are you...”

He reached up to cradle her face in his hands, his dark eyes fixed on hers and a tremulous smile on his lips. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again.”

Blinking back tears even as she smiled, she said, “I had those fears myself.”

He kissed her, and she melted into it. _Danger be damned; I just want to stay in this moment forever…_

Yet they had break the kiss to breathe, and reality set in. With a breathless chuckle, Marcus stepped back and gestured towards Jonathan, who stood a few feet away, looking unharmed but embarrassed. “I believe he’s with you?”

“Yes, he certainly is.” Abby hurried forward and pulled Jonathan into a firm hug. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I...” After a brief delay, Jonathan hugged her back. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you weren’t behind me until Maxim...”

“It’s fine, sweetheart; I’m glad you escaped.” Abby smiled at him. “Maxim didn’t chase you far?”

“Oh, he tried to, but you know I’m pretty fast. Then your..._friend _here jumped out from behind a tree and dragged me out of sight.”

“We heard a woman calling him...Jasmine, Jonathan said her name was?” Marcus came over and rested his hand on Abby’s back. “He gave up and listened to her when he lost sight of his prey, I suppose.”

“Jasmine wanted dinner,” Abby recalled. “She...she caught me.”

“What?” Jonathan exclaimed. “How did you get away?”

“I...I talked her out of killing me.” Feeling Marcus’s gaze boring into her from behind, she kept her eyes on Jonathan as she explained, “I told her I was a doctor, and therefore useful. She said that they might need one eventually, so I promised to help if they came and asked...”

“Abby...” Marcus began; Jonathan cut him off.

“Why would you promise something like that? Abby, they’re _insane_! Why would they need a doctor so much if...It’s just a game to them. They’ll track you, ask you to help them, and kill you when they have you trapped!”

“Not if they can’t find her,” Marcus said. When the other two looked at him, he continued, “If they can’t find us, _any_ of us, they can’t hurt us.”

“Where do we hide?” Jonathan dragged his hands through his hair. “The Amphitheater isn’t _that_ big, and except for...” He froze. “No way. Not _that_.” He waved his hand at the dense forest off to his right. “No one goes in there unless there’s too many people, and even then...I was in there for one night, and it was terrifying. I almost couldn’t find my way out.”

“The same thing happened to me,” Marcus said, “though I was actually dropped off in there. But before I found the way out, I found somewhere you probably didn’t see, someplace safe. And I marked the path back to it.” He glanced down at Abby, resting his hand on her arm. “Those woods might slow them down if they come looking for you. Or if anyone else wants to cause trouble.”

Abby curled her fingers over his, nodding. _So that’s what comes next: Hiding from the crazy people I made a deal with. _“What are we waiting for? Jonathan?”

The teen let out a groan. “Okay, fine. Probably better than being in the open.”

* * *

Inside the woods, it was very dark. Dozens of narrow, crisscrossing paths wove between stands of massive evergreens, impenetrable thickets of thorny brambles, and clusters of ferns so big and thick that the ground couldn’t be seen under them. Everything seemed muffled; the birds here didn’t sing, they croaked and cawed, their voices echoing hauntingly from high above.

“It took me some time...too much time, honestly...to find a more or less direct way,” Marcus explained as he lead the way, following the strips of bark he had tied discreetly to vines along the correct paths. “I knew I had to find you, Abby, but I also wanted to know there was a safe place to retreat to. I knew you’d find a way to survive until I could search the Amphitheater.”

“_He_ read his letter,” Jonathan said, still grumpy from having to enter the “creepy place.” He kept jumping at shadows. “I had to show her where hers was,” he informed Marcus.

“I had other things on my mind, young man,” Abby said, giving the boy a stern look. “Like keeping you alive.”

Jonathan had the sense to look a little guilty, and Marcus chuckled, looking back at them. When Abby met his gaze, curious, he simply said, “I missed you.”

She took his hand again, just long enough to give a squeeze. The narrowness of the paths didn’t often give an option for walking side-by-side. “I missed you, too.”

She kept watching him as they continued on, noticing that he seemed to grow more excited the further into the woods they went. _A mere year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to read him so well_, she realized, and her lips twitched into a smile. _How things have changed…_

Her smile dissipated when that train of thought led to Clarke, to everyone else who had changed since coming to the ground, and to the mess Abby and Marcus had left behind. _The mess we were taken from_, she reminded herself. _We didn’t ask the Province to abduct us and take us clear across the continent…_

Occupied as she was with her thoughts, she didn’t really notice when they crossed a bubbling stream. She only snapped out of her thinking a few seconds afterwards, when Marcus stopped and said cheerfully, “Here we are.”

Abby looked up.

A few yards beyond the stream, the trees parted somewhat, creating a small grassy meadow. The path led straight into it and to a tiny cabin at the center, clearly weather beaten yet standing strong on a stone foundation.

“There’s the stream for water,” Marcus was saying, “and there’s food in the woods. The roof has some holes that leak, but I managed to patch it somewhat with branches...”

“Still dryer and warmer than outside,” Jonathan said, looking much more enthusiastic than earlier. “Trust me, the spring rains haven’t even fully hit yet. If I’d found this last autumn...The winter would’ve been so much easier...” He grinned at Abby. “Maybe staying in_ this_ one place for a while won’t be so bad.”

“Maybe not.”

Abby moved to stand beside Marcus, and they both watched as the teen hurried forward to get a closer look at the cabin. “It’s not much,” Marcus said. “But if we’re going to survive...”

“It’s something.” Abby took his hand again, and this time, she didn’t let go for some time. 

* * *

It was strange, how fast they settled into their new situation.

Food was the most pressing concern. After living on the Ark most of their lives, the adults had never had much extra meat on their bones. But Abby could tell that she and Marcus had lost weight since being dropped in the Amphitheater, and Jonathan was already verging on skeletal due to his extended stay. Luckily, the apparent unpopularity of this patch of woods turned out to be another blessing on that front. Edible plants and animals such as squirrels were plentiful; Jonathan even found a pond near the cabin and suggested that they could eat the frogs if necessary.

“Larger animals roam further and always get hunted first,” he explained. “Sometimes the people running things will add some more...they haven’t done that recently.”

When the three of them weren’t combing the forest for food and a better understanding of where all the paths led, they also did as much repair work on the old cabin as they could with only knives and rocks as tools. Inside, they cleaned out the caved-in roof planks, encroaching plants, and debris that had accumulated across the stone floor over the course of who knew how many years. They turned fallen evergreen branches and ferns into a sort of over sized bed along the sturdiest wall, which gave them enough room to have their own space if they wanted it, though most of the time they stayed close.

Back in the insurgency’s cave outside Arkadia, Abby and Marcus had spent part of one night curled up together while they tried to sleep, an arrangement that none of the others had commented on. At the time, Abby had wondered if some had already assumed that she and Marcus were sleeping together, in more than one sense.

Now, when she and Marcus settled down for the night in each other’s arms, Jonathan seemed to assume this was normal for them. _No surprise there, really._ He kept to himself most of the time, but a few times on colder nights, he would shift so he was pressed up against them, and they would all share the blanket and coats they used for coverings. Not wanting to embarrass the teenager, the adults never brought it up during the daytime. _We all benefit from the extra body heat, anyway. _

The days remained mostly cloudy and cool with the occasional light rainfall. Yet, about a week after reuniting with Marcus, Abby found herself comfortable enough without her coat on as she refilled the three water bottles at the stream, enjoying the mild warmth and the few rays of sunlight filtering down through the trees.

“Hey.” Marcus joined her and crouched down on the bank. “Jonathan keeps climbing way up the trees by the cabin looking for birds' nests, and it’s making me nervous.”

“I think he knows what he’s doing,” Abby said with amusement as she screwed the lid back on one bottle. She paused in the action when Marcus reached out to touch her left hand.

Their eyes met, and he said softly, “I can’t believe they took your rings.”

She automatically began to reach for the chain no longer around her neck and stopped herself.

He saw. “Abby, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged and went back her tasked, biting her lip until it stopped threatening to shake. “They took everything. It is what it is.”

They would occasionally speak of Arkadia, of the chaos and confusion they’d unwillingly left behind. As time went on, however, it got tiring. Those conversations always ended the same.

“They could all be dead, Marcus. We could be all that’s left of our people, and stuck in here, we’d never know.”

“Our people are strong, Abby. They’re survivors. If there was or is a way, Clarke and the others will find it.”  
“But we may never know for sure.”

“Then we’ll just have to have faith.”

If there was a way out of this place, she knew she and Marcus would be well on their way back to Arkadia by now. They might still explore the possibility together, never mind what the damn letters said.

_Although, Jonathan's mentioned that no one has ever escaped the Amphitheater. _


	7. Exit Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I really like how the next one's shaping up, so bear with me. :)

“There are worse places to die.”

“_What?_”

Propping herself up on her elbow, Abby looked over at Marcus and said matter-of-factly, “There are worse places to die.”

They had been laying back on a massive, flat-topped rock that jutted out out into a calm stretch of the Violet River. Further down, Jonathan swam around in deeper water, taking a bath of sorts. It was a rare clear-skied afternoon between days and days of rain, and even the birds were taking advantage of the warm sunlight, splashing and flapping along the riverbank.

Marcus and Abby had been in the Amphitheater for two months.

Long ago and far away...or so it seemed sometimes...they’d had a single, three-month stretch of peace on the ground. Imminent death hadn’t been hanging over their heads during that time. True, they’d almost never managed to find more than a few moments to rest, but it there had been a feeling of quiet, of security, of constantly expecting day-to-day tasks instead of tragedy.

A similar feeling followed Abby around recently, with some differences. Over the last few weeks, there had been no close signs of Maxim or Jasmine or their “servant.” The days had been taken up by simple tasks related to surviving and planning for the near future. With three people working together, some time, like this afternoon, was left over for doing nothing in particular.

They’d used part of that time for exploration. The maze-like forest no longer seemed like a threat with most of the paths mapped in their heads. They had found the stretch of Moraine riverbank across from the village, which seemed to be occupied by somebody again; they’d kept to the shadows of the trees. They’d crossed the Violet River into the southernmost stretch of Amphitheater, where odd, year-round blooming flowers in vivid shades of red, yellow, and purple grew in the wide meadows.

“The flowers are genetically modified, definitely,” Jonathan had said. “Poppies, I think.”

“Why were they modified?” Marcus had asked.

“I don’t know. People do weird things sometimes, don’t they?”

During one long day trip along the south bank of the Province River, not long after settling into the cabin, Abby and Marcus had finally laid eyes on the wall keeping them prisoner. About sixty feet high and made of slick metal on the top half, it looked impenetrable.

“The metal’s electrified,” Jonathan had told them. “Or can be if someone tries to climb it.”

Marcus had questioned him about where the rivers entered and left the Amphitheater, and the answer had been as disheartening as the sight of the wall. “Where the rivers come in or leave, there’s underwater tunnels giant metal grates that no one can fit through. They can probably electrify those, too. But all the people I heard of who tried to swim out drowned.”

With that hope crushed for the time being, they’d thrown themselves back into making things livable where they could.

But Abby had gradually come to the realization that it would mean nothing in the long run. Setting aside the terrifying question of _What happened to our people?, _there were direct threats to their lives. Jonathan had told them horror stories of the past winter inside the Amphitheater. According to him, it had been very mild for the region. “Most prisoners just die off in the winter,” he’d said. “If they have control of the castle, they might get lucky...like Maxim and Jasmine...but otherwise...”

_If the weather doesn’t kill us, someone will eventually track us down and put an end to it. _Knowing that left Abby feeling like she and Marcus were going through the motions, putting up a front for the sake of the boy who was really better at all of this than they were.

Then again, she wasn’t sure if Marcus_ was_ putting on a front, not entirely. Something about being in the quiet woods, about having a sort of home to take care of without the burdens of leadership and diplomacy, seemed to suit Marcus a little _too_ well. When he wasn’t worrying and/or talking about Arkadia, he seemed ridiculously cheerful. It could be worrisome, but it also proved incredibly endearing, like his enthusiasm in Polis had been.

In short, Abby both loved the strange peace in the Amphitheater and hated it, all the while holding onto the realization that one day, sooner or later, it would end and one or two or all three of them would be dead. And that was both okay and not.

She hadn’t said it out loud before, though.

“We’re not going to die, Abby,” Marcus said firmly, eyes fixed on hers as if he could erase her words and the thoughts behind them with will alone.

“Yes, we are. Someone will find us, murder us...” Abby paused, trying yet again to banish the ghost of Circe haunting her mind. “...or, if we somehow make it until next winter, we’ll likely freeze or starve.”

Sitting up, Marcus said, “We don’t have to think that way. We’re doing fine so far.”

“I suppose.” She also sat up, drawing her knees to her chest, but turned her face away from him. Closing her eyes, she repeated what she’d said months ago under the rubble of Tondc. “Do we even deserve to survive?”

“Oh, Abby.” Marcus reached out, cupping her face and turning her towards him. “We’ve both made mistakes. But we can do better today than we did yesterday, even in here. Notice that we haven’t gone the Maxim-and-Jasmine route, so to speak.”

Abby let out a choked laugh. “_You_ haven’t. Circe Chambers might beg to differ when it comes to me.”

“Circe…?” Marcus frowned, hand dropping from her cheek. “The woman Jonathan shot?”

“Yes, the one Jonathan shot when she was attacking me.” _We never actually talked about it, did we? _The nightmares had been enough for her. “The woman whose throat I slit while she was distracted by the arrow sticking out of her shoulder.” Her voice had risen as she spoke, and in its wake came ringing silence.

The look on Marcus’s face then hit her like a physical blow. “You...didn’t know?”

His gaze moved to the skinny figure still wading around downriver. “He said he shot her, then you introduced yourself and helped him because he was injured. He didn’t say...”

“He’s too...too good. He shouldn’t have...” Abby curled in on herself, feeling sick. _All this time, Marcus thought I was the same...not guilt-free in the least, but direct-murder-free...person he cares about so much. Now...he’s been assigning that death to Jonathan, who let him believe..._

She couldn’t look up, but Marcus took her hands nonetheless. “Abby, you did what you had to. We all have...”

“I’m not supposed to kill people,” she burst out. Meeting his gaze again, she said heatedly, “I’m a goddamn _doctor_. ‘Do no harm,’ right? But no, I can’t even get that right. Even before the Amphitheater...”

“_Abby_...”

“Is everything okay?”

Jonathan had arrived, dripping water all over the boulder and looking concerned, and Abby spoke without thinking. “Why did you take the blame for Circe’s death?”

“I...I didn’t...” Jonathan glanced at Marcus, then back at Abby. “I didn’t think it mattered, really. If you hadn’t killed her then, I would’ve got in a better shot later.”

A hysterical laugh rang through the woods, and Abby barely recognized it as her own. “It didn’t matter,” she said, standing and roughly brushing off her clothes. “It didn’t matter, because in the end, you kill or you die, and nothing ever changes. _It never changes_.”

Marcus grabbed her arm when she tried to walk away, and she all but slapped his hand off. She hated herself for doing it a second later, just like she hated herself for the distressed look on Jonathan’s face, and for failing everyone around her again and again ever since she’d gotten Jake killed.

That night was awkward, and she didn’t feel any better the next morning; neither did the other two. Marcus went off by himself very early, and Jonathan said something about scouting out the border of the woods. The right thing to do would have been to go with one of them. Instead, she stayed put and aggressively tidied the cabin multiple times, stopping every so often to glare at the dull grey sky.

_I was a better person up there. _

Jonathan came back around mid-afternoon, near-bursting with news. “I saw Jasmine! Just from a distance; she was out in the fields and walking kind of funny. Waddling, almost. Then I thought I saw Maxim and ran to hide better. Maybe I should’ve...”

“No, you did the right thing.” _Unlike me. _Sighing, Abby said, “Jonathan, I’m sorry about yesterday. I was awful, and I didn’t need to be.” _I should be thanking him, actually…_

He immediately forgave her with a bright smile and a hug. “I understand. I feel pretty terrible in here sometimes...I get so angry, and that’s when I go off by myself so I don’t do anything too stupid.”

Remembering all the times Jonathan had slipped off into the forest alone with no warning, Abby smiled and said, “You’re very wise for your age, Jonathan. Don’t change.”

Resolved to also apologize to Marcus upon his return, Abby grew extremely concerned when hours passed and there was no sign of him. When he did come hurrying up in the twilight, favoring the leg injured in Tondc, she could hardly stop herself from shouting at him.

Jonathan, for once, did not hold back. “Why are you so late? We were about to go looking for you! How could you...”

“I’m sorry,” Marcus said, panting. “I lost track of time. But I do have some exciting news.” He hesitated, glancing around. “I’ll tell you later.”

_Right, the cameras. _Jonathan had mentioned that there usually was no audio, but the cameras could be almost anywhere and some people could read lips.

That night in the dark, as they piled together for warmth, Marcus told them what he’d discovered. “I went back into the southern section, all the way to where the Province River runs under the wall. A little before that, there’s a high bank of earth and stone that’s being worn through due to the rains and the river’s rerouting. From there the ground slopes right down to the wall, where the earth is very soft and the base of the wall itself...The concrete is cracked. Badly. If all or even part of the force of the Province River were to hit it...”

“It might break,” Jonathan said. “I think I know the bank you’re talking about. If punctured in just one spot, the water would be concentrated...It’s a long shot, but I bet if we used some drift logs as leverage...”

“What about these tracking shackles on our wrists?” Abby asked, rubbing hers. “The people running this show have aircraft. They’ll just pick us up again...”

“That’s a good point,” Marcus began, but Jonathan broke in. “If the wall crumbles, it’ll be a mess. We could maybe pry the shackles off in the chaos.”

“It’s a chance,” Marcus said. “A chance to get out.”

_A chance to not die in here. _Abby took a deep breath, finding Marcus’s hand in the dark. “Okay, let’s work through this again.”

* * *

It was an utterly insane plan, born out of long-suppressed desperation, and all three of them knew it. Then again..._What do we have to lose?_

They decided to wait until the next day of very heavy rain, so the ground would be the softest. They made sure they had some food in all of their packs, kept their water bottles full, and took to carrying their knives in their coat pockets. “If we go down, we go down fighting,” Jonathan joked.

They also tried to not be_ too_ obvious in case someone was watching; they didn’t even visit the place that their plan hinged on. “If we get there and it’s already dissolved or doesn’t look like we can do anything...” Marcus shook his head. “Then we just don’t do it, and we go on as before.”

“There are worse things,” Abby pointed out. _Like I said before, there are worse places to spend our last days, however many that may be. _

Within a week, a chilly day came during which Jonathan insisted that “It’ll be pouring tomorrow. I know how to read the sky. And if not tomorrow, then the day after.”

“We’ll put our plan in motion then,” Marcus said.

Jonathan went hunting around noon, leaving Abby and Marcus alone in the cabin. At first, they just cuddled on the bed. “Strange as it may sound, I think I’ll miss this place,” the former soldier said.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Abby rested her head on his chest, listening to his familiar, steady heartbeat. _How far we’ve come._ “It has been...peaceful.”

“But we have to think of our people, get back to them if possible.” Marcus stroked her hair, murmuring, “First, though...Jonathan. We have to get him somewhere safe.”

“We could take him with us, if we head back to Arkadia...” _Getting there will be...difficult, but again, let’s not get too far ahead…_“But he’ll want to go home to his mother, I’m sure...”

“If she can keep him safe, then he should go back to her.”

Abby tilted her head up to look into his face. “This whole plan is crazy. It’ll get us killed.”

“Yes,” Marcus half-smiled. “Yet, what else can we do? You were right when you said that if we stay in here, we’ll die anyway. If there’s the tiniest chance...We have to take it.”

She pulled herself up and kissed him, and for a short, blissful time, any reality outside of kissing each other senseless held no sway over them.

Then...

“Hey, _doctor_!” a deep voice shouted.

Abby and Marcus startled apart, and seconds later were stumbling out of the cabin, freezing in the doorway. 

Maxim stood in the clearing, with Net just behind him. The larger man had a knife to Jonathan’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and the kudos!


	8. Breaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is not kind to Abby, in the sense that a crazy person currently has it out for her and therefore decides to put her through hell. There's nothing too graphic, though.

The realization had hit Abby somewhere in the middle of bargaining her compliance for Jonathan’s life, and with an unexpectedly emotional reaction to her abrupt statement…his cruel sneer had all but vanished into something far more vulnerable for an instant...Maxim had confirmed it.

_Perpetually hungry. Extra clothing when the weather didn’t warrant it. Walking funny. Letting a doctor go while intending to fetch her at a later date. _

Jasmine had been pregnant, and even without Jonathan being used as a bargaining chip, Abby would have had to go.

“_Maybe they’re monsters, but that baby’s done nothing.”_

The poor thing never _would_ do anything, either.

Jasmine had sent Maxim and Net the moment she went into labor. They must have run most of the way to the woods before they caught a momentarily careless Jonathan. The journey to the castle also felt like it went by at a run. Childbirth could go on for a long time, and Jasmine wasn’t too far along when Abby reached her.

The night had gone by in a haze as Abby did everything she could, with the limited supplies available, for the gasping, terrified woman who had once tried to kill her. In the end, she may have saved Jasmine’s life, but there was nothing she could do for the younger woman’s stillborn son.

_It isn’t really that surprising. Even the king and queen of the Amphitheater are weaker than they would be if they were free._

Jasmine hadn't seemed at all insane in the aftermath, just exhausted and heartbroken. Laying on an ancient, creaky bed, tears leaking down her flushed cheeks and her long black hair in disarray, she’d brokenly asked to be left alone with the body. Understanding, Abby had complied.

Which led to her sitting in the stone hallway outside of the castle’s main “living suite”, head in her hands. Maxim had stormed off when she’d pronounced the baby dead, and she could hear his roaring voice cursing one level down. Cold seeped from the floor and through her clothes, chilling her to the bone, yet she didn’t move.

_I did what I could. I failed. And now…_

Jonathan had been right. She was as good as dead.

“_Abby, you can’t...”_

“_I have to. Listen, no matter what happens to me, you have to go through with the plan. __Save __Jonathan, get back to our people. __Or, if you can’t do that, just keep yourself safe. Protect him. Please, p__romise me you’ll do that. Promise me!”_

“_I...I promise...Abby...” _

“_I love you, Marcus. But you have to let me go.” _

She’d kissed him and stepped away before he could stop her, letting Net check her for weapons. Once he had confirmed she was unarmed and had her in his grip, Maxim had released Jonathan. The teenager had rushed to hug Abby even as the men were pulling her away.

“_Abby, __I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to...” _

“_Don’t blame yourself, sweetheart. You and Marcus take care of each other, okay?” _

“_Let go of her, brat, or I’ll gut you and that idiot over there before we leave! I only _need_ the doctor alive!” _

She heard the same harsh voice that had ordered Jonathan to let go nearing again as Maxim thundered up the nearest staircase. Lifting her head and beginning to stand, she thought, _I haven’t heard Net for a while..._

Maxim reached her, seizing her by the hair and dragging her upright before she could stand herself. She stifled a cry, pinned by his icy grey gaze. _Don’t let him see you flinch. _

She’d faced death head-on before, right?

“You,” he snarled, “are a_ problem_.”

The sound of a sob reached them..._Jasmine..._and Maxim let out a growl. Dragging Abby down the hallway, he forced her down the stairs in front of him. She stumbled into the debris-cluttered room below, nearly tripping over Net’s body at the base of the steps. The scrawny man’s neck was visibly broken.

She did fall a moment later as Maxim shoved her to the floor, delivering a hard kick to her ribs that made her gasp and curled around herself. He followed it with another kick, then suddenly he was pinning her flat to the floor, his wiry beard scratching her ear as he hissed, “I_ told _Jasmine you weren’t worth the trouble.”

Cheek pressed to gritty stone, Abby managed to say, “I wouldn’t say that; she could’ve died without my help.” Swallowing, she added, “I am truly sorry about your child. I tried my best.”

With a wordless snarl, Maxim flipped her over like she weighed nothing, straddling her and drawing out his knife. Like Jasmine had weeks ago, he pressed the blade against her neck. Unlike Jasmine, he also pressed his body against hers, paralyzing her with his weight. A new wave of terror surged through her, eliciting a struggle which Maxim put an end to with a blow that split her lip. “Stupid bitch...” He moved the knife away from her neck, his body still _too goddamn close _to hers, and Abby’s eyes shut involuntarily. _Please make it quick..._Skin crawling, tasting blood_, _her mind flashed back to Mount Weather, to being tied down and in pain. _I don’t want __to face __that again...or anything like it..._

She heard the knife sliding against something, cutting, and she opened her eyes, expecting pain. Instead, her head just felt bizarrely light as Maxim hauled her back to her feet, spinning her around and slamming her up against the nearest wall. Pain exploded in her back where it met rough stone, and over her captor’s shoulder, she glimpsed a limp pile of long brown hair on the floor.

Somehow, the image was horrifying enough to keep her fixated on it, until Maxim used the flat of his knife blade to turn her face to his. “This is what’s going to happen,” he said harshly. “You’re going to take me back to your lover and the Lancaster brat. I need to kill something else.” He jerked his head in the direction of Net’s corpse.

“Why should I do anything?” she replied, keeping her voice level. “You’re going to kill me, anyway.”

“That’s true.” He smirked, turning his knife and drawing it down the left side of her face. “But if you do what I say, I’ll let _one_ of those idiots you love so much live and get a head start on me.”

She felt the sting where the blade cut into her skin, felt a trickle of warm blood making a tiny river down her face and neck. _Not serious enough…_Her gaze caught of the nearest window. _It’s after dawn...__It’s __already __raining...__pouring, actually…_

Marcus and Jonathan wouldn’t be at the cabin. _They might have time…_

“Okay.” Her voice shook this time. “I’ll take you to them. I won’t fight. Just promise that you’ll spare one of them.”

He laughed jarringly. “We’ll see,_ doctor_.”

* * *

The trek back to the cabin was horrible.

Maxim made Abby check on Jasmine before they left; the black-haired woman was half-asleep and clearly didn’t understand what was happening. She still wouldn’t let them take the baby. “I’ll get when I come back later,” Maxim said as he pushed Abby out the door.

Despite the water-resistant coats, they were soaked through within an hour. Walking ahead, often feeling Maxim’s knife pressed against her aching back, Abby kept reaching up to brush her wet hair back, feeling a jolt every time her fingers combed right through the unevenly-cut locks. _Most of it’s gone…_

She had a feeling Maxim got some twisted pleasure from seeing her discomfort in general. If she faltered or paused for breath, he’d take the time to whisper about how he would kill Marcus or Jonathan, about how hard it would be for her to chose who would live or die.

_Oh, you have no idea, Maxim. _

When they entered the woods and began making their way along the bewildering paths, Abby began to panic. _What if Marcus and Jonathan didn’t leave? What if they decided to wait for me despite what I said? What if they tried to get to the castle? What if they’re waiting at the cabin…_

They weren’t.

Weak from relief, hunger, and more worry, she didn’t resist when Maxim grabbed her by the neck and shoved her against a tree. “Where. Are. They.”

“I...I don’t know,” she lied, choking in his grip, and he punched her in the face, reopening the cut he’d made earlier.

“Let’s try this again,” he said. “_Where are they_?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “I heard you, you know. You were trying to whisper to your lover, but you said something about a _plan_. You _know _where they are.” He shook her, fingernails digging into her neck. “We had a deal. You don’t uphold your end, I track them down and kill _both_ right away, while _you_ watch.”

_That’ll happen anyway, if we can’t get out. He’ll never stop..._Then Abby thought about it. _I’m dead, but Jonathan could shoot Maxim if he had to...he __wouldn’t want to but he__ might if he has to...he could stop this, for a while at least…_“Fine. I know where they might be. I’ll take you there.”

Crossing the shallowest stretch of the Violet River in heavy rain was more difficult than usual, but doable. From then on, it was just an endless slog through the muddy southern meadows. Maxim would speak every so often, cursing the weather or Abby, then going on about how he would murder her loved ones.

She chose to ignore him, instead taking what could very well be her last hours replaying her best memories in her head. Her wedding day. Clarke’s birth. Watching the Earth from the Ark’s window with her family. Being on the ground and breathing fresh air for the first time. Seeing Arkadia grow and begin to flourish. Her and Marcus’s first kiss.

To her dismay, she found many of those memories fuzzy, confused, like something out of an old dream. _Luckily, I have some more recent good memories, despite the circumstances. _Memories like bickering jokingly with Marcus about the best way to fix a hole in the cabin wall. Them trying to navigate a deeper stretch of the Violet River while a laughing Jonathan swam literal circles around them. Finding beautiful patches of blue-and-white flowers springing up after the rains. Chuckling at Jonathan’s exasperation when she and Marcus failed to understand the intricacies of tree-climbing. Falling asleep safe and warm in Marcus’s arms while the rain pattered on the cabin roof.

_It hasn’t been so bad here. If things had gone better in Arkadia, if we’d had peace, if we’d been able to retire to some degree…_She wouldn’t have minded settling in a little cabin in the woods with Marcus.

_And it may be juvenile, but I wish we’d gotten a chance to go further physically..._Between surviving, the potential cameras around every corner, and Jonathan, she and Marcus hadn’t gotten past passionate kissing and some wandering hands. _But that didn’t matter too much. We were happy just being together. All three of us __were in “a __version of happy.”_

The sound of the Province River gradually drew her back to the awful present, reminding her of the exhaustion and the way her entire body hurt. Gradually approaching, the corner of the Amphitheater where the river ran out, Abby glanced at the nearing wall a few times. _The metal half looks sturdy, but that base...It _is_ crumbling, bit by bit. _

She heard muffled shouting up ahead, and could tell Maxim did, too, as he grabbed her arms, twisting them behind her back. “Keep moving.”

Doing so, she began to veer to the right a little, avoiding the incline beyond which the river ran, drawing them into what might be flooded soon. _If Marcus and Jonathan break the barrier...Either way, they should have the high ground. _

She was betting on their survival instincts far more than her own at the moment.

_This could all be for nothing…_Yet they hoped it wasn’t. _That makes the difference. _

She tripped as they rounded a stand of trees; Maxim held her upright, and she took in the sight of the stretch of raised bank Marcus had mentioned. _That might’ve been put there by people a long time ago, to keep the river running the right way..._Through the rain, she glimpsed two men near the top of it...above some oddly-placed logs...their voices audible but the words lost in the noise of the river and rainfall.

Maxim let out a shout, and one of the people halted, turned.

_Wait, that’s not Marcus _or_ Jonathan..._

The person next to him _was_ Marcus, as she found out for certain when he also stopped and shouted, “_Abby!_”

“_You didn’t say there would be a third!_” Maxim bellowed, shaking her so vigorously that he lost his grip on her.

She slid out of his grasp and spun around, going for his knife and wresting the water-slick handle out of his hand. Without hesitation, she shoved it into the nearest part of him she could reach.

He screamed, striking her face so hard that something in her jaw cracked and she dropped to her knees. Looking up, she saw him wrench his knife out of his shoulder as the voices on the bank rose to an even more frantic pitch than before. She saw Maxim’s gaze flicking in that direction before she looked herself...

Just in time to see a several-foot section of the bank collapse.

The first rush of debris-filled water tumbled down the incline and missed Abby and Maxim by yards, hitting the base of the wall and piling up in a churning brown mass. For a second nothing happened.

_Crack. _

With noise seemingly louder than a hundred gunshots, a concrete section of the wall collapsed. As it fell, the metal section above shrieked like a living thing, bent and drawn down with it.

_They did it. _

A wild laugh escaping her, Abby tore her eyes away to look back at the bank. She could spot three figures now, way off to one side, out of the danger zone as another, much larger section of the earth barrier dissolved, crumbling into a flood. The water roared like a living thing, filling her vision.

Time seemed to slow. Maxim let out a yell and began to run away. He wouldn’t make it.

_Neither of us will. _

She didn’t even try to get up.

Faces flashed before her eyes as she closed them. _Jake. Clarke. Jackson. Raven. _So many others went by too fast to name. _Jonathan. Marcus. _

“_May we meet again.”_

She let the roaring of the water carry her away into nothingness.

* * *

**(End of Part 1)**


	9. Out of the Flood

**(Beginning of Part 2: The Province)**

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage._

\- Lao Tzu

* * *

Marcus Kane woke up with the horrible feeling that he’d been in this situation before. Though it took him a minute of laying unmoving, eyes still closed, to remember precisely what _this situation_ was.

Then he wished he didn’t.

_The Amphitheater. The wall. Abby. Jonathan. That strange man from the Cobalt Quarter who helped us, who already guessed our plan and knew how to better accomplish it. The flood. _

They’d followed the runaway torrent...him, Jonathan, and the stranger...soaked to the skin with voices hoarse from shouting, clambering over a wrecked stretched of wall, and the aircraft had come for them before they made it ten yards out. It had been a foolish plan, born out of a desperation to live and not just survive, to not have their deaths be meaningless results of false imprisonment. It had ended the way they thought it very well might, with a shadow on the ground and a pinprick that turned the world to darkness.

For Marcus, at least, the world had already gone dark by that point.

_Abby…_

His eyes flew open, but for a few moments all he could see was Abby falling to the ground, remaining on her knees as the second wave of river water hurtled towards her. He saw her tiny figure swallowed by the floodwater, everything...her beauty, her strength, her love...gone in an instant.

_I lost her. _

The thought reverberated deafeningly through his empty wasteland in his head, even as the rational part of his mind began processing where he was.

He was stretched out on a hard sort of uncovered bed below a silvery metal ceiling. A faint hum sounded from somewhere nearby._ I’m on an_ _aircraft?_ Not feeling any restraints on him, he drew a breath and pushed himself into a sitting position, looking around at the single, closed doors, the locked metal cabinets on the walls of the narrow, windowless room. There was a bed on either side of him; the one on the left was empty, but the one on the right…

_He’s alive. _“Jonathan,” Marcus breathed, immediately swinging his unsteady legs off the bed and hurrying to the boy’s side. Someone had stripped them both down to their pants and undershirts. Even the metal shackles were gone. “Jonathan, can you hear me?” Marcus gripped his shoulder, giving it a light shake. “Jonathan?”

The boy groaned softly and curled himself away from Marcus’s voice The older man let out a frustrated sigh. “Jonathan, I need you to wake up!”

“Ugh...Marcus?” Blue gaze bleary, Jonathan looked up at him, blinking confusedly. “I...Where...” His eyes widened and he jerked upright, breathing unsteadily. “We got caught.”

“Yes.” _It was for nothing, after all. Abby...we lost her that way for nothing…_

“Where’s the Cobalt guy?”

“Not in here.” Marcus paused, remembering. They’d reached_ that_ stretch of riverbank to find a tall man with spiky black hair and an unsettlingly broad grin waiting for them. He turned out to be the “high off poppies” man from the Cobalt Quarter who they hadn’t so much glimpsed in the past couple of months and who they had, in fact, assumed to be dead. “About time you got here,” he said. “I thought I might have to do this alone!”

They’d gotten to work quickly, not waiting to be stopped by anyone who might be watching, and the man had admitted to seeing Marcus eyeing the riverbank and wall days earlier. “I’d been thinking up a similar plan myself, but it has to be done very quick, all at once, and that’s why more people is better!” They hadn’t had much time to talk after that.

“Maybe he was in the other bed and left,” Jonathan suggested.

“Perhaps.” Feeling shaky, Marcus sat down on the edge of Jonathan’s bed. “We should...”

The door slid open and a blonde woman dressed in some sort of pale grey uniform walked in, tutting disapprovingly when she saw where Marcus was. “You shouldn’t move around too much just yet,” she said, setting the tray she carried on Marcus’s bed and gathering its contents into her hands. Handing Marcus and Jonathan each a small bottle and a package of crackers, she said, “Eat and drink up. I’ll be right back.” She swept out before they could even react.

Marcus looked down at the stuff in his hands. _Can we even trust this? Why are we not dead yet? If we weren’t criminals before, we are now…We broke the damn Amphitheater..._

“I know her,” Jonathan said hesitantly, interrupting Marcus’s thoughts. “I mean, I’ve seen her...She works for...” Suddenly, he let out a shuddering sigh. “She’s from Lancaster Quarter.” He looked up, his eyes welling up with tears. “I think we’re...I think we might be safe.”

Marcus took a deep breath, relief and fear battling within him. Setting aside the food he’d been given, he pulled Jonathan into a hug. The boy leaned into it like a much younger child would. _I can’t fail him, too, not after…_“Even if we’re not safe yet, Jonathan, I swear I will do everything in my power to protect you.” _I promised. _

“I know you will,” the teen said. “You’ve been doing that all along. Both of you...” He trailed off, pulling away. “Abby...”

Marcus couldn’t meet his eyes. “She wanted us to take care of each other.” Picking up the bottle the woman had given him, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip. Instead of water, it contained some kind of sweet, tangy liquid. _Some kind of fruit juice? It tastes good. _He took another sip. “If you think we can trust that woman, you should eat. It doesn’t seem poisoned.”

Jonathan opened his bottle, but didn’t drink right away. “Marcus...I’m so sorry. I know you and Abby...I know how much you...you loved her.”

He couldn’t breathe for a moment. _“I love you, Marcus. But you have to let me go.” _

_I should never have done that. _There were so many things he shouldn’t have done, and so many he should have.

They finished their food and drink in silence, and the blonde woman soon returned with the half-asleep Cobalt Quarter stranger, who she all but shoved onto the third bed. “_Stay_,” she snapped, then turned to the others with a smile. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’re on our way to Lancaster Center right now.”

“What about Abby?” Marcus demanded. _Even if there’s no hope, I can’t just forget her body...or let the Delacours get their hands on it..._

“Abby…? Oh, right, the woman who was with you. We’re looking for her, I promise.” The woman took their empty bottles, wrappers, and the tray. “You two should rest. All will be explained as soon as we land.”

“Bossy,” slurred the Cobalt man from his prone position.

Rolling her eyes, the woman muttered, “I can see why he got arrested. All of you, _get some rest_. I’ll be locking the door this time so no one goes roaming about the aircraft.” She left as abruptly as she’d arrived.

The Cobalt man..._What _is_ his name?_...seemed to fall asleep in moments, but Marcus and Jonathan stayed up, sitting close together on the edge of the bed. “I’m afraid to sleep,” Jonathan mumbled. “I don’t want to wake up.”

_I wish I could. _Marcus put his arm around the boy’s shoulders, saying nothing. _He'll be okay. And t__hey’re looking for her. Unless they’re lying...But if they find her…_

Hope fluttered up in his chest, only to be crushed again and again by the image of Abby collapsing under a mass of raging water. Jonathan eventually slept, leaning against Marcus’s shoulder, but the repeating internal cycle of hope and devastation kept the older man wide awake as interminable time passed.

Yet he was close to dozing off himself when the aircraft jolted, the tune of the low humming changing. Twenty seconds later, it gave another jolt and settled, seeming to power off. Jonathan woke up then, straightening up and stretching sleepily. “Are we there?”

Before Marcus could answer, people could be heard approaching the door, talking loudly over each other. One strident voice, a woman’s, rose above the rest.

Jonathan stiffened, letting out a sharp cry and jumping to his feet. When the door opened and a slender figure with long red hair rushed in, he cried out again. “_Mom!_”

He all but flew into her arms, burying his face in her shoulder, his entire body shaking with a combination of joy and muffled sobs. After a minute of doing the same, his mother lifted her head, looked over his shoulder, and met Marcus’s gaze with vivid blue eyes just like her son's. She didn’t even have to mouth the words for him to understand the look on her face.

_Thank you. _

He nodded, then averted his eyes from the embrace as mother and son started murmuring to each other. _It’s not my place. _Though he felt truly happy for Jonathan, he also felt hollow, empty like the vacuum of space. _He’s safe. I’m not needed, after all. I’m...alone. _

Other people, at least six of them, were clustered beyond the open door, keeping their voices lower than before in respect of the reunion playing out before them. That changed when Jonathan and his mother finally broke their embrace, yet she ignored the others clamoring for her attention and approached Marcus, holding out her hand. “It is good to meet you at last. Marcus, is it?”

“Marcus Kane.” He shook her hand; she had a firm grip. “And you’re Jonathan’s mother...”

“Leslie. Leslie Lancaster.” She smiled tightly, seeming to notice his surprise when he heard her last name. “There’s a lot we have to discuss, but first...” She glanced at her son where he hovered by her, reaching to take his hand before she looked back to Marcus. “I thought you’d like to know that more of my people on another aircraft found your...Abby.”

In the eternity of a moment that followed, Marcus’s shattering heart threatened to stop beating altogether.

Then Leslie continued, “She’s alive.”


	10. On the Shore of Summer

The semicircular wall of Lancaster Center protected the western and northern sides of the town, but to the south and the east, the Province River and Summer Lake formed the only protective barriers. The majority of the buildings, several multiple stories high and many with partially-curved walls, were clustered along the river, spreading out further north. A few vehicles that looked something like Arkadia’s rovers in much better days ran along the paved streets, often among crowds of people going about their daily business. The low hills surrounding the town were a complicated patchwork of thick green forest and farmland.

After two weeks of being there, Marcus knew all of this about Lancaster Center’s layout almost entirely from glimpses out the windows of the four-story hospital.

When Leslie Lancaster...who was, incidentally, the mayor of the Quarter via heredity...had said Abby was alive, what she had actually meant was something along the lines of “mostly dead.”

While Marcus, Jonathan, and Ky Darren, the Cobalt man, had been attempting to break the wall, the people running the Amphitheater hadn’t been the only ones watching. Several small, sleek aircraft from the Lancaster and Cobalt Quarters had waited nearby, prepared for something to happen. When it did, they managed to move faster than the permanently on-standby Delacour extraction team. The Lancaster aircraft, both of them, had been the closest, with one picking up the escaping prisoners in the most efficient way possible while the other followed the portion of the overflowing Province River that had tore away in the wrong direction.

That second aircraft had found Abby...bleeding, broken, and miraculously still breathing...washed up in one of many stationary piles of debris almost an hour after the wall had collapsed. From eavesdropping on quiet conversations between the medical staff in the hospital, Marcus had learned that Abby’s heart had stopped twice before the medics could stabilize her.

_And “stable” does not equal “okay.” _

The doctors had wanted Marcus to rest in his own private room, to recover from the often-harsh conditions of the Amphitheater, but from the moment he was allowed to see Abby, he wouldn’t leave her side unless absolutely necessary. He’d argued, even physically struggled when they tried to remove him. Leslie had stepped in then, saying, “The only way he’s going to rest is if you let him stay with her. So let him.”

_The plan was to escape, then get back to our people. _ _But I can’t do that_ _, at least _ _not_ _ until..._

They’d brought another bed into Abby’s room, which was in a corner on the top floor of the building and had two windows, though the shades remained drawn most of the time. Marcus’s world all but shrunk into the quiet space between the four pale blue walls as time passed, watching over the woman he loved.

She remained deeply unconscious, almost motionless, looking tinier than ever in a thin hospital gown, surrounded by the tubes and wires connecting her to far too many softly beeping machines. Her breathing was sometimes so slow that if it weren’t for one of those machines, Marcus wouldn’t have been able to tell if she was breathing at all. Most of her skin that was bared between splints and bandages, including her face, was covered in dark bruises. Her once-flowing hair had been hacked off short and lay ragged against her pillow. Apparently Maxim Bronze had done that when he had her at the castle; Marcus hadn’t been close enough to see the damage clearly on that last awful day.

_Even so bruised and battered, to me she’s still the most beautiful, precious thing in the world. _

Throughout his vigil, he stayed awake as much as possible yet let himself sleep whenever exhaustion overwhelmed him, usually propped up in a chair by Abby’s bedside with one of her bandaged hands cradled in his. Other people...doctors, nurses, Jonathan...came by occasionally. The long hours of lonely silence in between left him with too much time to think, to remember, and to worry.

Marcus thought distantly about the strangeness of this new place, of how the Province outside might be handling the destruction of the Amphitheater, and of how Jonathan had, over the course of two months, failed to mention who his mother was.

_He still hasn’t explained that. Not that it matters much; it’s actually a good thing for us._

Marcus remembered his life and how it had changed so much over the past year or so, how he had worked so hard for peace in the Coalition only to have it torn away, and his first meeting with with the boy he now looked on as family.

“_I think that man’s gone. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” _

“_I...thanks, I...Wait, are you Marcus?”_

“_I...Yes, I’m Marcus. How did you…?”_

“_Abby told me about you! We were looking for you when...”_

“_You know Abby?” _

“_Yes! We’ve been sticking together since we met...She saved my life.” _

Marcus worried about what might have befallen Arkadia in the past few months, about what might happen to the Province now that things had been thrown into upheaval, and about Abby’s gradual, tenuous recovery. A thousand other thoughts and memories and concerns ran through his mind every day, yet every one eventually led him back to her.

_She has to be okay. _He was more than ready to wait by her side until she was, no matter how long it took.

* * *

Waking from a fitful sleep in his chair two weeks in, he found Leslie Lancaster looking down at him. “I see your bed is being put to good use.”

A glance across Abby’s still form explained the comment. Not for the first time, Jonathan was curled up on the bed intended for Marcus, breathing slowly and deeply. “At least it’s being used.”

“Hmm.” Leslie pulled up the extra chair left against the wall and sat, crossing one of her legs over the other. “He’s been allowed to go home for days. He won’t leave the hospital.”

“He didn’t say.” Jonathan hadn’t been saying much during his visits, and Marcus hadn’t asked him to. The boy’s presence was enough. “I can talk to him if you’d like.”

“You can try. Ask him to eat more, too, will you? He’s skin and bones and not listening to me.” She glanced at Abby, lowering her voice. “How is she doing?”

“About the same.” Some bruises had visibly faded, cuts were knitting together well, and broken bones were mending. Yet she remained unmoving and oblivious to any of it. “They say she’s getting better.” _I just wish she’d wake up. _

A pause, then Leslie sighed heavily, her pale narrow face creased with worry. “I’ve quite a mess on my hands, you know.”

“You mean with the Province?” Marcus had heard bits and pieces of current news, but not enough for a cohesive picture. “Are your people in danger?”

Leslie uncrossed her legs, leaning forward. “Jonathan may have told you in the Amphitheater how no one’s liked the Delacours for a long time. But life under their rule hasn’t been too terrible, not for most, so we just let the problems slide. They got so used to the rest of us doing that...They’ve grown lazy, complacent. Their current mayor’s an idiot. They’ve failed in upkeep on certain things...like their favorite prison. Now that the Amphitheater is broken, the other three Quarters have cut themselves off from the Delacours, and both sides...We’re just waiting for the other to make the first move. There will probably be a war.”

_A__nother__ looming war, __only__ among people with too__ much practice in apathy __to start it__. _“From what Jonathan told us, they have the advantage of more resources.”

“When you take each other Quarter separately, yes. But together, it’s three against one, and we’re about even in a lot of respects. I’m working with Harold Aberdeen and Cassandra Cobalt...who, by the way, was planning for the destruction of the Amphitheater from within for the past five years or so. Ky Darren, who helped you break the wall? He did commit a crime that under Delacour rules got him sent in, but he’s a very close friend of Cassandra’s.”

“So he was already looking for weaknesses when we showed up. No wonder he was so ready to help.” Marcus hesitated. “I haven’t seen him around at all...Then again, I haven’t been out of this room much.”

“You wouldn’t see him even if you were. He went running back to Cobalt Quarter the moment the doctors cleared him.”

“He must’ve wanted to get home.”

Leslie snorted. “That, and he’s ‘just a friend’ of Cassandra in the same way that Abby here is ‘just a friend’ of yours.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while. Eventually, Marcus’s gaze fell on Jonathan’s slumbering form and he said, “Why didn’t he tell us who you were?”

“He never mentioned his last name?”

“Abby said that the others called him ‘the Lancaster brat’, but I just assumed they were referring to Jonathan being from Lancaster Quarter, not his surname.”

“It was probably both. They had to know who he was.” Leslie shook her head. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell you. It seems to me he told you everything else.”

Marcus didn’t have time to decipher the layer of ice in her tone before a tired voice reached them. “I didn’t want to explain what happened.”

The adults looked over at Jonathan, who pulled himself up to a sitting position on the bed, legs crossed. “They would’ve asked, if I told,” he said. “Would’ve asked if my mom had anything to do with why I was in the Amphitheater. I didn’t want to go into that.”

“Oh, baby...” Everything about Leslie seemed to soften as she looked at her son. “You see, Marcus, I’ve been a thorn in the Delacours’ sides since I was Jonathan’s age...”

“You don’t know when to keep your mouth shut,” Jonathan said with a ghost of a smile.

She nodded. “Especially when I was younger. Last year, I raised a fuss over supplies distribution after a hard winter and...Sometimes, people who aren’t criminals get sent to the Amphitheater because they’re a problem. But the Delacours never arrested an acting Quarter mayor. There would be riots if they did. So they punished my son instead.”

“They said I killed someone,” Jonathan said, picking at the edge of his shirt. “Said I pushed him off a cliff into Lake Summer. He drowned.”

“They fabricated the evidence, paid off some witnesses, and it all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to disprove it.” Leslie gazed at nothing, her eyes blazing. “The man in question _slipped_. Jonathan happened to be nearby with some friends when the accident occurred, and the next thing I knew, the Delacour police...none of which remain in my Quarter now...had arrested him and were dragging him to the waiting aircraft.”

Jonathan’s response to that was almost inaudible. “We barely got to say goodbye.”

_That much he did tell us, at some point. _“It seems to me that the Delacours only made things worse for themselves by arresting Jonathan.” _By giving him a death sentence. _

“They did.” Leslie scowled. “They still have no idea just how much worse. Now that Jonathan’s safe...There’s nothing holding me back. It’s other people who are the problem.”

“Aunt Lacey says you would’ve rushed into a war alone when you were younger,” Jonathan pointed out.

“Yes, but I’ve come to learn the value of teamwork.” Leslie stood up. “I’ve got a meeting to get to. Don’t bother Marcus too long, Jonathan.”

“I won’t.” The teenager watched his mother leave the room, then said, “I’m sorry. For not being honest.”

“It’s already forgiven.” Marcus smiled. “Your mother said you’re refusing to go home.”

“I don’t want to leave, not...not while Abby’s still like this.”

“You won’t be too far if something happens. Did you say that your mother’s house is just minutes away?” When Jonathan didn’t reply, Marcus said, “Your mother’s worried about you. She says you’re not eating enough.”

“I can’t.” Jonathan made a face. “I feel sick when I try. Aunt Lacey says it’s because I ate so little for so long.”

Recalling that he’d been eating very little himself lately, Marcus decided to drop that subject. “You should go home, Jonathan. Your mother just got you back.”

Looking a bit guilty, the boy mumbled, “I know.”

Standing, Marcus carefully relinquished his grasp on Abby’s hand and went over to sit next to the teen. “Abby would want you to go home, to get some real rest.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll rest when she wakes up.”

For a moment, Jonathan said nothing, sitting with his shoulders hunched. Then, “I just feel...so strange, being back here. My friends visit, my family, and I don’t know how to talk to them...It’s like I’m all bent out of shape and I don’t fit anymore.”

_He spent eight months trapped in a place where he was sent to die, six of those alone, and he’s not even eighteen. Of course he feels like he doesn’t fit in back home. _“I understand. But you’re still you, and you’re still loved.” Marcus pulled the boy into a side-hug, which Jonathan didn't protest. “You’re going to be all right, son. It’ll take time, but you will be.”

A soft sigh. “Okay.”

* * *

Jonathan left the hospital that afternoon, though he promised to visit everyday. Marcus was again left alone with Abby, waiting. _Hoping_.

Three days after his conversation with Leslie and Jonathan, he awoke to changes in the sounds made by some of the machines around Abby’s bed. Once assured that the changes were good, he settled by her side again, holding her hands in his own, wide awake and anxious.

_She has to be okay...She’s so strong, she has to be…_

When her gorgeous, soft brown eyes first opened, they couldn’t seem to focus. He pinpointed the moment they did, however, as Abby looked at him with dawning recognition on her face.

“Hey,” he whispered, fighting to hold back tears. “Welcome back.”

She opened her mouth; no sound came out. “Hush, don't try to talk,” he told her. “It’s okay. We’re safe, Abby. We’re _safe_.”

Her gaze flickered, seeking something other than him, and he understood. “Jonathan’s safe, too. We’re going to be okay.”

Lips twitching into a tiny relieved smile, she closed her eyes again, and Marcus finally let himself cry.

_She’s going to be okay._

He could face anything now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! :)


	11. Over the River

“_You_...are a _terrible_ influence.” From her reclining position, Abby somehow managed to glare, laugh, and catch her breath all at the same time. “Doctor Mallard won’t be happy if she finds us out.”

“Why? She said you needed to take it easy.” Repositioning the blankets and moving from the foot to the head of Abby’s hospital bed, Marcus leaned down and kissed her deeply, a gesture which she returned with enthusiasm. When they broke apart, he said, “I was just helping you relax in a way that didn’t require you participate too..._vigorously_.”

“I don’t think _that_ is what she meant by a ‘non-vigorous activity’. Still...I should probably return the favor.”

Fifteen days after she had first opened her eyes in the blue hospital room, Abby was still very weak physically, even though most of her injuries, both external and internal, were mostly or completely healed. She sometimes fumbled when trying to pick up things like eating utensils; she couldn't stand long without support. She spent most of her time asleep or propped up in her bed, and though she didn’t voice it much, she was often in pain.

Mentally, she seemed surprisingly all right and was going stir-crazy. Marcus, of course, felt obliged to help out where he could. Often, that meant talking about any subject that wasn’t too complicated or painful for both of them. Sometimes, it meant other activities.

_Like now. _Chuckling, he took his familiar seat by her side and slipped his hand into hers. “You can return the favor once you’ve recovered more. I’ve already worn you out too much today.”

Smirking at him in a way that he knew _she _knew drove him crazy, Abby said, “Oh, I plan to do _much_ more than that.”

A groan sounded from the doorway. “I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Jonathan!” Marcus tried to remember if he’d heard the door open. “When did you get here?”

“Like ten seconds ago. Don’t worry, I listened for suspicious noises before I opened the door.” Jonathan moved into the room, leaving the door halfway open. “Walking in on you making out in the cabin was enough.”

“Oh, you poor sweetheart,” Abby said, smiling at him with a touch of mischief. “How are you today?”

“I’m all right.” Looking rather downcast, Jonathan sat down on the bed that still remained unused most of the time. “My mom wants to talk to you, Marcus. There’s a guard waiting outside to take you to her.”

Marcus looked worriedly at Abby, who waved him off. “Go on. I’ll be fine. Jonathan will keep me company.”

“I...Okay. I’ll be back soon.” Marcus kissed her forehead and got up to leave, reaching for the comfortable brown jacket he’d been given, along with other used clothes, to replace hospital wear and the Amphitheater garb.

As he shut the door behind him, he heard Abby say, “Sweetie, come sit by me and tell me what’s on your mind.”

_I hope everything’s all right. _Jonathan’s readjustment to life outside the Amphitheater was a common topic. _It’s both complicated _and _painful, but too important, too present to ignore. _

After a stop by the bathroom down the hall, Marcus followed the polite young guard, dressed in a green-trimmed grey uniform, out of the hospital and to the waiting vehicle. When an almost-warm, sweet-smelling breeze hit his face, he stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. _I haven’t been outside since we landed on the hospital roof...about a month ago? _He’d been so wrapped up in Abby’s recovery that he’d barely felt the passage of time. _It’s been over three months since we left Arkadia._

That was a topic that definitely fell into “too complicated and painful” for the time being.

“Mr. Kane?” The guard looked concerned.

“Sorry, I...Lost in thought.” Marcus went to get in the low-set black vehicle. Unlike the rovers in Arkadia, it seemed almost airtight, with padded seats. Also, it ran quiet and didn’t jolt violently every few seconds. _Though that could be due to the smooth road. _

A short ride through the bustling early afternoon streets later, the vehicle glided to a halt in front of the Town Hall, a light-colored stone building with eight steps up to and eight large columns flanking the main entrance. The double doors were guarded by more people in grey and green, who quickly stepped aside when they saw Marcus and his escort.

Inside, all sound from the street was muffled to almost nothing by the thick walls. The guard led Marcus about halfway through the massive, echoing antechamber, then up a flight of stairs on the right. A couple turns down narrow hallways later, they stopped in front of a door bearing a golden plaque with the words, “Mayor Lancaster” etched on it. The guard knocked, opened the door, and said briskly, “Marcus Kane to see you, ma’am.”

“Show him in,” Marcus heard Leslie say, and he stepped into the room, finding it far more crowded than he’d expected.

“Good afternoon, Marcus. Please take a seat.” Behind a wide wooden desk, Leslie stood, looking tidy as usual yet weary. “How is Abby?”

“She’s doing well.” Sitting in an empty chair and glancing around the room, Marcus counted four complete strangers, also seated. _None of them look hostile..._

Leslie noticed his look. “Everyone, this is the Outdweller Marcus Kane. Marcus, this is my military head, Cyrus Leavey,” A man about Marcus’s age with a much lighter beard nodded solemnly, “Orion Fisher, originally from Delacour Quarter,” Orion, seemingly around thirty and incredibly handsome, gave a friendly smile, “Barry Brant, our resident tech expert,” A diminutive man with spectacles glanced up momentarily from the computer tablet in his hand, mumbling a greeting, “and Amy Cobalt, niece of Mayor Cassandra Cobalt.” The young woman, who couldn’t be more than twenty years old, brushed her straight coppery blonde hair out of her face and waved. “They’re there to discuss a change in regime,” Leslie explained as she sat back down.

_A change in regime. _Marcus stiffened, remembering all his previous experiences with such changes. “You mean...a revolt.” _More like a full-on revolution...There are comparatively so many people in the Province..._

“We’ve basically done the revolt part,” Amy said. “The Cobalt, Aberdeen, and Lancaster Quarters all drove out the Delacour police forces as soon as the Amphitheater wall fell. We’ve blocked almost all messages from the Delacour Quarter. We no longer follow their instructions or depend on them.”

“Which means rationing in some areas, but for now that’s manageable,” Leslie said. “In our Quarters, we’ve gone through hard times before.”

Orion broke in. “It’s not so great for everyone in the Delacour Quarter, either. There’s the fairly large ‘elite’, then there’s the very large ‘everyone else’. Three guesses which group most Delacour Amphitheater prisoners are from.”

“The point is, no one likes the Delacours, but they still hold some cards.” Barry Brant’s voice was thin and reedy. “We have to be cautious. And, in the end, we’ll need their resources. We can’t just walk away.”

“We...the dissenting mayors...are working on an official declaration of separation.” Leslie caught Marcus’s eye. “Jonathan’s told me a lot about where you’re from, the things you’ve done. You have far more practical experience in...in things like this.”

“In actual conflict, you mean. Both armed and political.” Marcus almost laughed. “You want my advice? Avoid it at all costs.” _War is never the answer, and political maneuvering is almost as bad. _

“We can’t avoid it,” Amy said firmly. “Not after the last ninety-eight years of Delacour absurdities.”

Leaning back in her chair, Leslie commented, “Maybe I should ask Abby for advice, instead. Jonathan said she’s quite the rebel.”

_“That’s the difference between us, Kane.” Those blazing, fearless eyes. “I make sure that we _deserve_ to stay alive.” _

“He’s not wrong,” Marcus said. “I just...Abby and I shouldn’t be involved in this at all. We don’t belong here at all; we were put in the Amphitheater under false pretenses. As soon is Abby has fully recovered, we’ll be going back to Arkadia, to our people.”

Orion snorted. “You’ll have a long walk.”

“What Mr. Fisher means to say,” Barry said, before Marcus could decide whether to get angry or not, “is that your Arkadia is a very far away, over treacherous lands. To tackle even a portion of it is, put mildly, not recommendable.”

“Then why don’t we just take an aircraft?” Marcus demanded. _Maybe they think they don’t owe us that much. They’d be right. Still... _“Like the one that brought us here in the first place?”

“Our aircraft are built to fly low and over relatively short distances.” Cyrus Leavey spoke up for the first time, his voice level. “The risks are too great otherwise.”

“There are exactly three aircraft in the entire Province that could safely make a journey as far as the east coast,” Barry added.

“Let me guess.” Marcus shut his eyes, covering them with one hand. “All three of those are in the possession of the Delacours.”

“Exactly,” Amy said.

In the pause that followed, Marcus kept thinking, _We’re trapped. Even if Abby recovers fully, we’re trapped here unless we want to risk a thousand-mile-plus journey over wild lands alone. _

“Marcus,” Leslie said, her low voice unusually gentle, “We’re trying to fix a broken system here. If you think you can, help us, and I swear that as soon as it is possible, we will send you and Abby home.”

Another, longer pause ensued, then Marcus lifted his head, meeting Leslie’s gaze. “All right,” he said. _We owe them, anyway. _“What do you want to know?”

* * *

When Marcus returned to the hospital a few hours later, Jonathan had left and Abby was dozing in a chair by the eastern window. He went to her side, reaching out to touch her cheek, his fingers brushing lightly over the narrow, raised pink scar that ran from below her left eye to her chin. The cut from Maxim’s knife had healed well, yet..._I should’ve protected her from that. From all of it. I should’ve insisted that she not go..._But by now he knew better than to expect Abby Griffin to do what he told her to.

Under his touch, she stirred, blinking up at him. “You’re back.”

“Yes.” He looked out the window, glimpsing Lake Summer, lit by the beginning of a sunset he couldn’t see. “It’s getting late; you should be in bed. Did you eat dinner?”

“I did. Then Jonathan had to leave, and I wanted to wait up for you. Did you eat anything?”

“I had something an hour ago.” Sometime during that arduous meeting, Leslie had sent someone for food. Marcus knew he must've eaten, but couldn’t for the life of him remember what. _Too much to talk and think about, I guess._

“What did Leslie want? You were gone a long time.”

“It’s...complicated. And I’m exhausted. Can we talk about it tomorrow? I promise it’s not too urgent.”

“Okay, I’ll wait. But only until tomorrow.” Abby pushed herself to her feet, using her chair as a crutch and wavering a bit as she stood. Marcus caught her and scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her halfhearted protests. He wasn’t in top form by any means, yet she was still thin and light enough for him to carry to her bed. After putting her down, he shed his jacket and shoes and climbed under the covers. “Is Jonathan doing all right?” he asked as they settled into each other’s arms. As soon as Abby had no longer needed to be heavily bandaged and hooked up to machines, they had easily fallen back into the nightly routine they’d shared in the Amphitheater.

“Jonathan visited with his best friend Gus this morning,” Abby said. “They hadn’t spoken in private since before...Anyway, it didn’t go as well as he’d hoped. I gave him reassurances...and some advice. I think he’ll figure it out.”

“That’s good.” Marcus tucked Abby’s head under his chin and closed his eyes. “He’s a strong kid.”

“He is.” When Abby spoke again a few minutes later, it wasn’t about Jonathan. “Marcus, I need to get out of here. I’m going insane, confined like this.”

“I know.” She’d said as much just the day before.

“_After Mount Weather, I was on my feet in a week. Well,_ mostly_ on my feet, but...One week, Marcus! I’ve been in here a month at least!” _

“_And you were practically in a coma for half of that time. I’m no doctor, Abby, but I think there’s a substantial difference between having one of your legs drilled for bone marrow and being dragged through a debris-filled flash flood.”_

He sighed, remembering everything he had to tell her. _Tomorrow_. “We can talk to Doctor Mallard. But where exactly would we go?” _We don’t have a home here to go to._

* * *

As Jonathan opened the front door, he grinned broadly. “Welcome to the Lancaster Manor!” he said grandly.

Leaning against Marcus as they mounted the front steps, Abby laughed. “I think you undersold it, Jonathan.”

Marcus agreed. The Lancaster’s home _was_ lovely. Built on the lake shore in the least crowded northern section of the town, it was like the cabin in the Amphitheater in the sense that the walls were made of logs. There the resemblance ended.

When talking about the house he grew up in, Jonathan had failed to mention that it was literally a sprawling two-story lodge that could accommodate a hundred people easily if someone were to throw a party. Inside, it looked to the two adults from space like something out of a fairy tale.

_Once upon a time, this level of living wasn’t that unusual in many places. _

The day after Marcus’s meeting with the mayor and assorted others, Doctor Lacey Mallard...who happened to be Leslie’s younger sister and Jonathan’s “Aunt Lacey”...had agreed that Abby could leave the hospital after one more night, provided that she continue to receive daily checkups. Upon hearing this, Leslie had immediately suggested that they stay at her house, much to her son’s delight.

The teenager seemed almost giddy as he showed them to their guest suite upstairs. “Mom’s busy, so she said I’m in charge of making sure you guys get settled. You’ll probably want to rest for a while, Abby, but I’ll be around if either of you need anything.”

“This is incredible,” Abby said as they were shown around their lavishly-furnished rooms, and Marcus agreed; the large, neatly-made bed looked particularly welcoming, though the lake-facing windows and balcony weren’t bad, either. “Thank you, Jonathan. I think we’ll settle in just fine.”

“I’ll give you a full tour sometime.” Hugging them both in turn, the teen left with a bounce in his step. “Sara will be making lunch in a couple hours!” he called over his shoulder.

Abby, needing to use the bathroom, insisted that she could make it those few feet on her own. Complying with her wishes, Marcus made sure she got into the next room..._She’s getting stronger much more quickly now_...before he went to check out the balcony. It overlooked the sprawling back porch that was partly built out into the lake. Separated from the neighboring houses by rows of trees, the Lancaster residence seemed to have it all. _Privacy, luxury, an amazing view...From what I’ve seen, it’s the best house in Lancaster Center. Which makes sense. _

Yet the Delacour elite apparently had even better homes.

Marcus stayed out on the balcony for a few minutes, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air. _It’s almost summer...Our first summer on the ground. _It felt so strange. Just a year ago, they’d been up on the Ark, struggling to solve the impending lack of air. Thelonious had been chancellor, Abby and Marcus sworn enemies. _So much has happened. So much has changed._

When he went back inside, he heard water running in the bathroom. “Abby?”

“I’m taking a bath! Have you seen this tub? It’s wonderful.” A pause, then, “Care to join me?”

_Speaking of changes..._Smiling, Marcus called, “I’ll get us some clean clothes.” Jonathan had assured them that the closet and dresser were well-stocked.

By the time he located the proper clothing and headed to the bathroom, Abby had already filled the low, elegant tub and was immersed in the steaming water, the scrubs she’d borrowed for the trip from the hospital discarded on the floor. She looked up at Marcus when he entered, moving her arms as if to cover her frail, scarred body as he looked her over.

_Not that it matters; we’ve seen each other naked_ _before_. They'd had to bathe in the Amphitheater, too._ And all of her scars only make me love her more. _He set their clothes aside, knelt by the tub, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “You’re beautiful.”

She half-smiled. “Well, I know you’re not so bad yourself.”She tilted her head back, capturing his lips with hers. It started chaste, then deepened into something fiery, passionate.

Breaking the kiss and resting her forehead against his, Abby whispered, “I want you, Marcus.”

“You have me.” _In every way. _


	12. In the Calm Before the Storm

The next nine days were, on the whole, some of the very best Marcus Kane had ever experienced.

During those nine days, Leslie didn’t ask him for more details about his political and military knowledge; he had told Abby all about the meeting before they moved out of the hospital and they were both happy to leave the subject alone until further notice. They decided to take the time they had to not worry, to truly rest.

_We’ve never had peace quite like this before, not in space or on Earth. _

During those nine days, Abby continued to recover her strength and was soon able to move around the house without any help. She still tired more quickly than she used to, but that didn’t stop her and Marcus from enthusiastically indulging themselves in each other every night and a few times during the day, too. They did make sure not to be too rough. “Not yet, anyway,” Abby said once with that sly grin that always threatened to drive him mad.

During those nine days, there was time to spend with Jonathan as the teenager went about introducing Marcus and Abby to his favorite parts of Lancaster Center and the adjacent landscape, including the lovely swath of forest to the immediate north, the boat docks where the river and lake met, and the horseshoe-shaped library, which fascinated Marcus most of all.

“I’ve never seen this many books,” he said, gazing around at the high shelves in awe. “I thought all collections like this were lost.”

“The Delacours have a bigger one, of course,” Jonathan said, making a face at the mention of the hated name. “But my ancestors’ private collection...public collection now, I guess...wasn’t small, and other people brought more when the Province was formed.”

_I never thought I’d get to see anything like this place...I don’t want any of it to go to waste. _He felt happier than ever when Jonathan offered to help him and Abby borrow some books. _We’re so lucky to have this, all of it, even if it’s temporary. _

Over the course of the nine days, only three incidents really marred the peace at all.

The night after they moved into the Lancaster house, Marcus was awoken from a deep sleep by Abby’s sharp cry and frantic thrashing in the bed. When he shook her awake, she broke down in tears, sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” over and over again. He held her close and spoke gentle words of comfort until she fell asleep again. She never explained what nightmare he’d woken her from and seemed to sleep more peacefully in the following nights.

He tried not to worry about it too much. _I don’t tell her about my nightmares, either. _Though he tended to wake up rapidly and calm down as soon as he saw Abby. _Most of my bad dreams involve losing her._

The second incident occurred when Marcus woke up on the morning of the fifth day to find Jonathan curled up in some extra blankets on the floor. “What are you doing here?” he whispered over Abby’s slumbering form. 

“I had a...I couldn’t go back to sleep.” Jonathan looked away, embarrassed. “It was too quiet in my room with no one there.”

_We stayed so close in the Amphitheater. _“It’s okay, Jonathan. I understand. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

That situation in itself would have resolved itself fine if Leslie hadn’t come storming in a minute later, her wavy red hair hanging loose and her voice loud enough to wake the entire town. “There you are! What the _hell_ are you doing?”

Abby woke up with a start, muttering confusedly as Jonathan raised his own voice. “I couldn’t sleep! It was...You don’t have to be angry about it! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Leslie instantly deflated. “No, you didn’t. I’m sorry, baby.” Dropping to her knees, she wrapped her arms around her son. “I...When I woke up, I went to check on you and...and you weren’t there.” She looked up at the two people on the bed. “I’m so sorry about this. I’m...I overreacted.”

Abby, now fully awake, was the one to respond. “Maybe, but it’s all right.” A look of understanding passed between the two mothers, and the incident was not commented on again. 

The third instance of difficulty was much less dramatic, and was in truth just a conversation that turned out to have a good ending.

The first couple trips Marcus took to the northern woods, he went on foot and just with Jonathan, as the four-mile round trip was deemed by Doctor Mallard to be “a little too much” for Abby. But on the eighth day, Jonathan got the Lancaster’s middle-aged housekeeper/cook Sara to pack them a picnic basket and a friend of his with a truck to drive him, Marcus, and Abby through part of the forest to a spot a short walk away from a little hidden cove on the lake. Hidden away from everything but the trees, the softly rippling water, and the warm sunshine, the three of them passed the afternoon that felt similar to some of those in the Amphitheater. _Only, we’re not trapped here. We’re safe._

“I feel almost like I could live in this moment forever,” Abby murmured, laying next to Marcus on a blanket spread on the pebbly beach. Nearby, Jonathan clambered among the driftwood on the edges of the cove, poking around for interesting odds and ends he could share with his seven-year-old cousins, Ian and Isla Mallard.

Marcus watched the teen for a minute before turning his head towards Abby. “_Almost_ like you could live in it forever?”

“I’d feel better if...things were more settled.”

“I know how you feel.” _The Province’s impending upheaval. Living among people who watch us carefully because we’re “Outdwellers.” Arkadia and its troubles. Clarke, Bellamy, Octavia, Raven, all the others...Who may be..._Marcus felt guilty for not thinking about them more. _They’re strong, _he reminded himself yet again. _They’re survivors. And we’re no use to them right now. Soon, hopefully…_

“I feel like I should be doing something,” Abby said. “Helping out in the hospital, maybe, just _something_...”

“When you’re fully recovered, you will. If it makes it any better, I feel the same way.” Sighing, Marcus said, “Maybe they’ll have more use for a doctor and an aging soldier when war breaks out.”

“You’re not just a soldier, Marcus. You’ve never been just that.”

“I can’t be a leader or a diplomat, Abby, not here. They may want my advice on certain things, but I’m not one of them. Neither of us are. We’re outsiders, _Outdwellers_, and that’s more likely to make us problems than assets.” He hesitated. “If there’s a war, if the Delacours win...” _We’re dead. Both of us are dead. _

“If there’s a war, we have to believe that they won’t win.” Abby took a deep breath. Her voice started out sounding broken, then grew more determined as she spoke. “All I know is that sometimes...sometimes I don’t recognize myself, and I don’t mean because of things like _this_.” She gestured to the scar on her face and to her now-trimmed hair, still too short to reach her shoulders and held back by a narrow black headband. “I’ve done things that I never would’ve done a year or two ago. I...I’ve killed people, Marcus I’ve caused deaths, indirectly and with my own two hands...I feel like I need to redeem myself, somehow, and if helping these people make a better world for themselves is a start.” 

_Of course that's what she's thinking. She’s so strong, so brave..._“Abby,” Marcus rolled over so he could cup her cheek with one hand. “You’ve done what you’ve had to, what you’ve been forced to do. We're all more than our mistakes. You taught me that.” He smiled at her. “And maybe you’re right, about the Province. Maybe we should help, as much as we can. I don’t know how to do it all yet, but we’ll find a way.” He rubbed his thumb against her soft skin; she leaned into his touch. “I love you,” he said, saying it aloud for the first time.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled back. “I love you, too.”

They kissed, and Marcus thought, _I could almost live in this moment forever, too. _

* * *

The evening of the ninth day, Leslie Lancaster joined Marcus, Abby, and Jonathan at the downstairs dining room table for a late dinner. Previously, she’d hardly been in the house, being too busy with running the Quarter and a potential rebellion.

By now, Marcus had grown accustomed to eating at the massive polished table and to consuming foods he’d always thought didn’t exist anymore. Sara Timberland was an excellent cook, and tonight the main dish consisted of layered flat pasta, meat, and spicy sauce, with vegetable salad on the side. _Messy, but incredibly delicious._

“I hope the Quarter is running smoothly?” Marcus said to Leslie about halfway through the meal; he’d found her previous silence while the others chatted unnerving.

“As smoothly as can be expected.” Sitting stiffly at the head of the table, Leslie wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I’m glad to see your stomach has finally stretched out, Jonathan.”

The teen grinned and dug his fork into his second helping of the pasta dish. “I’m glad, too.”

“Lacey brought Ian and Isla with her when she checked up on me today,” Abby told Leslie. “They’re sweet kids.”

Per usual, the mention of her or her sister’s children made Leslie soften instantly. “They really are, aren’t they? And so smart, too. They’ve only been in school one year, and they’re both at the top of their class...Speaking of, Jonathan, I’d like you to go back to school in the fall.”

Jonathan choked on a mouthful of food, and Marcus slapped him on the back a few times to assist with his coughing it up. “_What_?” the boy spluttered after gulping some water.

“You should go back to school in the fall. Provided things are settled by then.” Tilting her head, Leslie said, “What’s wrong? You’ve always liked school, Jonathan.”

“I do...I did...I just...” Jonathan looked at Abby, who sat across from Marcus. “I’m not sure I...I don’t think I’ll fit in anymore. Does that make any sense?”

“It does, but I’m confused as to why you’re looking at Abby instead of at me while you ask that.” Leslie’s voice had gone as cold as ice.

Marcus tensed as Jonathan visibly stiffened in his seat. “Maybe I wanted to know what _she_ thought,” the teenager said.

“Jonathan...” Abby said warningly, but Leslie spoke over her,_ loudly_.

“She’s not your mother, Jonathan!”

“_I know that!_” Shoving his chair back, Jonathan stood; his mother mirrored his actions. “_You’re_ my mom, and I love you, but she was _there_. They_ both_ were there. You weren’t.”

Frozen in their seats, Marcus and Abby exchanged wide-eyed looks. Jonathan and his mother’s identical, burning blue gazes remained locked to the sound of Leslie audibly trying to control her breathing.

Then the power went out.

There was still quite a bit of light in the sky outside, and the power flickered back on after about a minute. Yet the unexpected change in lighting was enough to break up...whatever_ it_ was.

“What the hell was that?” Leslie moved from the table as the housekeeper appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen, greying hair in disarray. “Sara, did the power go off throughout the house?” the mayor demanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sara said worriedly as the phone in the front hallway started ringing.

Leslie went to answer it, and Jonathan spoke up. “The power never goes out in Lancaster Center…"

“Not unless there’s a bad blizzard or windstorm,” Sara put in.

“It’s been quiet all day,” Marcus said, standing and listening as Leslie’s voice sounded loud and clear from the hallway.

“Amy, what do you mean, they...Cassandra told you _what_?...Mayor Delacour is...Son of a _bitch_. I’m on my way.” The sound of the phone being slammed onto its hook reached them, and Leslie came back into the dining room.

“What happened?” Marcus asked.

Leaning against the door frame, Leslie ground out, “Arthur Delacour, the useless mayor of his Quarter...He’s dead. His younger brother Alan’s in charge now, and according to Cassandra Cobalt, he just had his people blow up the power line junction between Cobalt Quarter and here. That’s where most of the Province’s electricity comes from...unless you’re in the Delacour Quarter, naturally.” She clenched her jaw. “We have a backup power source in our Quarter, but it’ll be a strain unless we can reconnect...Aberdeen's gone dark and stayed that way.”

A long pause. Then Marcus said, “They made the first move.”

“Yes.” Leslie drew a shuddering breath, drawing herself up to her full height. “Now it’s our turn.”

Automatically, Marcus reached across the table to take Abby’s hand. Her fingers clenched tightly around his when they met.

_The uneasy peace is over. This is how a war begins. _


	13. Beyond the City Gate

“Talk to Jemma, he said,” Marcus muttered, glancing around the crowded square in front of the Town Hall. “Not very helpful, as he didn’t tell me_ where_ she is.”

After months of trying to ignore the problem of the rebellious Quarters, the Delacours had changed tactics completely as they changed leadership. Over the course of four days after the “first move”, they had set fire to farms on the borders of the Cobalt and Lancaster territories, further decimated the power lines between Quarters, and had broadcasted a number of threatening messages to any dissenters’ televisions that did retain power. Mayor Alan Delacour, his dark hair just greying at the temples and his craggy features set like stone, spoke directly to the people in those messages, saying more or less the same thing.

“_This unrest cannot endure. If these so-called rebels do not surrender soon, they will be crushed.” _

“_Without the guidance of the Delacours, the other Quarters will soon quarrel and fall.”_

“_This foolish rebellion is folly, conjured up by the same sort of people who believed they could break the Amphitheater, one of this country’s oldest institutions.” _

“_The Province is nothing without the Delacour family, for we were the first Founders.” _

The “so-called rebels” responded by calling for additional volunteers to enlist with their Quarters’ guards, which could safely be called armies at this point; they had already been recruiting and training for war. Protection details for vulnerable locations were set up, and the hum of regular aircraft patrols became a familiar sound.

Additionally, weapons and supplies stockpiles made before the power line bombings were rationed.The Cobalts withdrew most of their population into the giant underground bunker that was their Center, leaving out, with substantial protection, only those needed to keep the Quarter supplied with necessities. The Lancasters began rationing their solar and wind power and sharing it with the less-fortunate Aberdeen Quarter. Meanwhile, the northernmost residents of the Province began retreating into the edges of the vast wilderness they resided so close to, all but emptying Aberdeen Center and making their people, soldiers and civilians alike, almost impossible to find.

Within a short time period, square in front of the Lancaster Town Hall, as the Quarter’s central location for recruiting and organizing new soldiers, had become filled with tents and people perpetually in a hurry. As Abby had gone to volunteer her help in the hospital earlier that morning, Marcus was now making his way to where he thought he could be of use.

_I know a lot about political and military strategy, but I don’t know the Province. I won’t be needed for advice full-time. _So to the town square he went, running into Cyrus Leavey almost right away. Looking harried, the general had seen Marcus open his mouth and said, “Talk to Jemma,” then rushed off with his two-guard escort struggling to keep up.

Marcus knew who “Jemma” was, though he hadn’t yet met her. From what he’d heard, Jemma Torrent came from Aberdeen Quarter, had inserted herself in the running of Lancaster Quarter’s military hub after being sent there with a large number of Aberdeen soldiers, and had been known to wrestle bears.

_I’m not sure about the accuracy of the last one. _

After asking for conflicting directions three times, Marcus found his way through the chaos to a nondescript tent in the shadow of the Town Hall’s eastern wall. Inside, a broad-shouldered woman, dressed in red-trimmed grey and with close-cropped ash blonde hair, sat at a rickety table, glowering down at a computer tablet on top of some maps. “What do you want?” she snapped without looking up.

“I would like to join the rebellion as a soldier, and Cyrus Leavey told me...”

“If you want to sign up, you should go to the recruitment tent, you id...” She glanced up and stopped mid-word. “Oh. You’re the Outdweller. Right. Different procedure.”

Jemma stood up, seeming to fill the small tent, and suddenly Marcus didn’t feel so doubtful about the rumors that she wrestled bears. _She’s a__ good t__wo inches taller than me, __and probably broader__. _“I’m Marcus Kane, yes.”

Moving forward with the grace of a very large cat, she eyed him. “You were a soldier, back with your people?”

“I was a member of the guard for over twenty years.”

“You can follow orders?”

“If I trust who’s giving them, without question.”

“Hmm. You can fire a handgun? A rifle?”

“Yes, though I think the ones you have might be slightly different.”

Raising her thick eyebrows, she asked, “Are you any good?”

_S__omehow, she__ reminds me of Indra. _Ignoring the sting from that realization, Marcus said, “I’m a decent shot.”

“And you want to fight for our rebellion...why?”

“I’ve a grudge against the Delacours. Also, I know fighting’s something I can be useful at.”

“I cannot blame you for either sentiment.” She nodded brusquely. “Go find the outfitter’s tent and see about getting a uniform. Report to the camp outside the main gate at fifteen hundred hours, and I’ll personally make sure that you _are_ a decent shot.”

Later, at the shooting range set up near the military camp in the wide belt of mostly flat, cleared land outside the western wall, Marcus found that the Province’s guns were, if anything, easier to handle than those from the Ark. Within ten minutes, he had proved his usefulness to Jemma Torrent; she almost smiled at him. “Not bad for an Outdweller. Maybe I should check your wife’s shooting skills, too.”

“Abby’s a doctor, not a soldier,” Marcus said with a chuckle; he sobered as he added, “And she’s not my wife.” _I __don’t__ deserve that much from her. __She had Jake for so long..._

The eyebrows went up again. “I _see_. Come with me; I’ll show you where to go for basic training.”

When Marcus went to the Lancaster house some time later, a brightly smiling Abby met him at the front door. “How was your day?” she asked as she hugged him.

“It was all right,” he said, returning her embrace. “I’ve a place in the rebellion’s army now, as a soldier. What about you? Did things go well at the hospital?”

“Yes, it did. Though I didn’t get to do much, really; Lacey’s easing me into it. Marcus, the medical facilities are...I think they’re _better_ than Mount Weather’s.” The set of her shoulders told him she was tired, but her eyes were gleaming. “There’s so much I could learn...and put to good use...” Her gaze grew distant.

_She’s thinking about Arkadia. She did want to use Mount Weather’s medical facilities to help everyone...Another thing taken from us, from our people. At least now..._“I’m happy for you, Abby,” he said with a smile. “They’ll soon see what a good doctor you are.”

Jonathan and Leslie weren’t home, and Sara had the day off, so Marcus and Abby managed to make a simple dinner together and ate it out on the back porch, enjoying the warm evening and giving each other more details about their day. It was nice, peaceful, despite the aircraft that made two passes more or less directly over the house while they sat outside.

_It might not feel like it while we’re in the house, but there is a war going on. A war I might be marching into at any time. _He didn’t voice those thoughts.

At length they went indoors to find Jonathan, just arrived back from visiting friends and looking flustered, with his hair ruffled and more color than usual in his cheeks. “Is everything okay?” Marcus immediately asked him.

“I...Yeah, I’m fine! Just fine.”

“Are you feeling sick?” Abby moved to feel the teen’s forehead, checking his temperature. “You look flushed.”

Ducking away with a sheepish grin, Jonathan said, “I’m feeling fine, Abby, honest. I’m...I’m working something out.”

Once in their room, preparing for bed, Marcus noted Abby’s expression when he mentioned Jonathan’s odd behavior. “What’s going on? Do you know something I don’t?”

“I may have an idea of what’s gotten to him.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t look so worried, Marcus, it’s nothing bad.”

“Abby...”

“It’s not my place to say.” She kissed him as a distraction, which soon turned into something else that drove every thought of anything but Abby firmly from Marcus’s mind.

Afterwards, sprawled panting and sweat-soaked on the bed, he said, “Are you sure _I’m_ the terrible influence, Abby?”

She just laughed breathlessly in response.

* * *

Military training on the ground felt harder than it had been on the Ark, but Marcus suspected that was mostly because he was two decades or so older this time around and considerably more battered. Plus, summer had arrived and even though the Quarter uniforms were technically lighter than any Marcus had worn before, he was almost always sweltering.

On the upside, a lot of what he already knew from years of experience transferred into what he was supposed to be learning now, allowing him to keep up with the other trainees despite most of them being at least ten years younger than him.

Spending most of the next three weeks in the encampment outside Lancaster Center, Marcus go to know many of the other new soldiers quite well. In particular, nineteen-year-old Erik Fjord, who could always find something to laugh at, had grown up on his parent’s farm within sight of the Amphitheater. Jo Sonnet, shorter than Abby and with...figuratively...the filthiest mouth Marcus had ever encountered, was average with a gun but brutal in hand-to-hand combat. Twenty-something Ash Townsend, originally from Aberdeen territory, had wanted to work in the wind turbine fields in Cobalt Quarter and had never been able to because a person needed a special pass...usually obtained by bribery...to relocate across Quarter boundaries. “The Delacours claim it’s for security,” he explained one day. “But really it’s just to keep potential troublemakers from ever meeting.”

“That worked great,” Orion Fisher commented with a grin.

Handsome Orion had joined the army proper sometime after his and Marcus’s first meeting in Leslie’s office. He turned out to be a kind, courageous man who often hid his best traits underneath banter and bluster. At one point, he actually apologized to Marcus for his “long walk” comment. “It was insensitive,” he said, “and not even funny.”

Not long after that, he showed Marcus a touch-worn picture of a lovely young woman with auburn hair and green eyes. “This is Ana, my fiance. When the Amphitheater broke, I and some others sneaked out of Delacour Quarter; she wasn’t able to meet us in time.” Orion pocket the picture with a crooked smile. “I’m going to get back to her, if it takes me fighting through the Delacour ranks all alone to get there.”

_Everyone here seems to be fighting for something. _Some had lost friends and family to starvation after the Delacours took more than their share after a bad harvest. Others had lost people due to lack of things like medical supplies, or to the Amphitheater. All had, at some point, felt the iron grip of a government that didn’t listen to them at all.

The more Marcus learned about the Delacours, the less he liked them.

“_Some of them like to do twisted things,”_ Jonathan had said once, though he hadn’t been able to elaborate.

People like Jo Sonnet could and did, often inserting a variety of extra expletives into every pause.

“See, the Delacours...and their favorite elite families...they throw a lot of fancy parties where they waste all kinds of shit...Anyway, they’re all interrelated, and they get crazier every generation...Remember Maxim? His father was Aberdeen, but his mother was some exiled Delacour elite...Some like to experiment on people, prisoners, usually...”for science”, bullshit...other Quarters have good scientists who aren’t sadists...Those in the Amphitheater usually get off lucky compared to those poor bastards who get used...You know almost a thousand people died in that hellhole, right?”

“I did, yes. All the more reason to make sure it’s never repaired.”

The rebels continued training, preparing, and drawing lines that the Delacours seemed reluctant to cross, though they continued threatening, burning, and blowing things up with abandon. The rebel leaders sent out their own messages of encouragement, put out fires using their seemingly-growing collection of light aircraft, and worked out a way to reroute and guard power lines so that the allied Quarters could remain connected and functioning.

A few tiny skirmishes along the borders led many injuries and less than a dozen deaths, and a Delacour aircraft suspected of carrying bombs towards Lancaster Center was shot down by patrols. Otherwise, no actual battles took place.

“After the clans and their 'blood must have blood' mentality, it should be a relief to be around people so reluctant to start an actual fight,” Marcus told Abby one night. “But the wait feels unbearable, and out among the soldiers...The anger’s building up, Abby and I’m afraid of what will happen when it’s too much for the people or their leaders to contain.”

“Maybe they_ need_ to let some of it out,” Abby suggested. “They’ll probably need it. The Delacours are willing to be more brutal; they’re just trying to minimize damage to their little kingdom right now. I overheard Leslie and Amy Cobalt...Leslie said that Alan Delacour’s patience will run out eventually, and when it does...”

“We’ll figure it out.” Marcus tightened his arms around the woman he loved. “We’ll find a way to survive it.” _“It” being the __metaphorical __storm I know is coming. _

It wasn’t that storm that hit them first, however.

One morning, generals Jemma Torrent and Cyrus Leavey gathered the soldiers in the main encampment and announced that the Delacours had launched a series of attacks against the Cobalt Quarter’s power generators and Center. “So far, no casualties, just injuries, and damage has been minimal,” Jemma said, “but these are warning shots. They will strike again, harder, and we cannot lose the Cobalts.”

Cyrus took over. “We will be dividing up our main forces here. Some will remain to protect the Lancaster and Aberdeen Quarters under my command. The rest will be traveling to Cobalt territory under General Torrent to combat the threat there.”

Marcus, knowing he was less fit than most of the army, was surprised when he received his orders. “You want me in the army traveling to the Cobalt Quarter? As part of _your _unit?”

Jemma, looking as usual mildly annoyed by his presence, said, “Yes, Kane, I do. _We _do, just in case. You may be playing obedient foot soldier, but you’re still the only person in the Province who’s actually been in war at all.”

“It was just one war, really, and I didn't...Compared to this...”

“It’s still one more war than the rest of us.”

_And it was still one more war than I ever wanted to be in. _

* * *

That afternoon, towering clouds began gathering on the horizon, racing westward accompanied by distant flashes and rumbles. Returning to the Lancaster’s residence, Marcus found Abby waiting as usual, her face somber. “Leslie made a public announcement,” she said, “about the attacks in the Cobalt Quarter, and the military plan...Then she went hunting with Jonathan.” She bit her lip. “Did you...volunteer to go? Or...”

“I was asked to.” Marcus sighed and sat down heavily on the lowest step of the inside staircase. “I didn’t feel like I could refuse. But if you...I could back out, if you wanted me to...”

“Marcus,” Abby sat next to him, placing her hand over his and meeting his gaze. “Put _me_ aside for a minute, and ask yourself if going is the right thing to do.”

He threaded his fingers through hers, looking down at them. “General Torrent wants my help. I...If there must be a war, if my going will help win it...Then yes, it’s the right thing. But...I don’t want to leave you.”

Lighting crackled and thunder rumbled overhead.

“Marcus...” He looked up, and Abby murmured, “It’ll be okay. We can call each other. Maybe I can join you later, as a field medic or something; right now I don’t think anyone would clear me to go. Even if I don’t do that...I’m doing good work here. I’m doing my part.” She smiled sadly at him. “I’ll miss you. But I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll miss you as well.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you so much,” he whispered as raindrops began to hammer against the roof.

“I love you, too. That’s why I’m letting you go.”

“I’ll come back.”

“I know you will.”

They continued sitting on the stairs together in silence, clinging to each other and only pulling apart when Leslie and Jonathan came running in from the storm, laughing, soaking wet, and arguing about dinner like there was no war to return to in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos :)


	14. Between the Mountain Shadows

Mount Weather had been an impressive bunker.

Cobalt Center took “impressive bunker” to another level.

There were no rough stone walls, only smooth concrete or steel. Instead of fewer than ten levels, there were twenty-one. Its current population was nearly four thousand.

Before the apocalypse, it had been partly paid for by the Delacour family; after, it had been the logical “home base” for the construction of the Province. Since then, the Cobalts had turned it into a full-time underground city, where one could hardly turn a corner without finding a giant, multi-artist mountain mural on the wall or a group of children playing in the middle of the walkway.

The crowded, confined spaces and constant humming of machinery reminded Marcus of the Ark, except without a view and with a ready escape to the ground. It differed from Abdereen Quarter’s decrepit Center on a hill. When the combined Lancaster-Aberdeen forces had moved to Cobalt Quarter via truck and aircraft, a number of them had passed through the northern region and stopped by the all but abandoned town. Mayor Harold Aberdeen, who somehow seemed to balance being a clever strategist dedicated to his people’s safety with being a sloppy drunk, had laid eyes on Marcus, taken a swig from a hip flask, and said, “Oh, shit, don’t let that Outdweller near my town wall. I can’t afford to repair it.”

“Did you tell Mayor Cobalt that about Ky Darren?” Jemma had asked before Marcus could formulate a response.

“What do you think?” The older man had shrugged. “Care for a drink?”

It had also turned out that Mayor Aberdeen knew where Marcus and Abby were from and liked to comment on it a lot. In fact, the entire country seemed to know where they were from by this point. When he’d voiced his confusion..._I haven’t gone around giving a detailed explanation to everyone, and the Delacours might know some things but haven’t talked about it publicly..._Jemma gave the explanation of, “Some people saw your space station come down last year, from a fair distance. And then you told Jonathan your story, and he told his mother, who told...a lot of other people. Do the math.”

Several units, including General Torrent’s own, had stayed in Aberdeen Center overnight. Marcus took a walk that evening, wandering alone through the deserted streets, noting the large swathes of cracked pavement in the few paved roads, the filthy backstreets, the badly-patched roofs. _Technically it’s bigger, but compared to Lancaster Center…_

“_Aberdeen Quarter used to be a sort of..._hotbed_, __you could say__...for troublemakers, a couple decades ago I think. The Delacours cracked down on them, and...they never really recovered. That’s what Mom says.”_

After that brief stay, the army had moved on southwest, into the eastern foothills of the Coast Mountains. The Cobalt Center bunker was located in a shallow valley created by several of said foothills, and surrounded by fields of wind towering wind turbines, a few of which had been recently toppled by Delacour airstrikes. Most of the solar fields, some similarly damaged, were further east, where the landscape was flatter.

Upon their arrival, Cassandra Cobalt, looking a lot like her niece except with more grey hair and fewer smiles, had showed General Torrent and her twenty-member command unit the two craters left on the surface above the bunker itself. “They dropped a couple missiles over us; no internal damage whatsoever. We only lost a couple storage sheds up here. But I’m concerned about what arsenal the Delacours might be hiding in the vaults.”

“The vaults?” Marcus had asked, and Ky Darren, along for the tour and giving one of those scarily wide grins, had explained:

“The vaults under Delacour Center. When the world went to shit, immediate necessities and people were stored here. Everything else they thought might be good to save went in the vaults underneath the private resort that later became the biggest town in the Province.”

_So the Delacours’ hoarding of things isn’t new at all. As if I could like them much less at this point. _

General Torrent and her unit...which included Orion Fisher and Jo Sonnet, something Marcus found himself grateful...only stayed in Cobalt Center for a couple days. Then they moved further south, closer to the Violet River and the worst of the damage still being wrought by the Delacours’ air and land strikes. In camps mostly set up in ravines and moved often for protection, the rebel soldiers spent their daysgoing on rotating patrols along the border, working to keep the camps livable, and ducking for cover when Delacour aircraft flew overhead, usually warded off in minutes by antiaircraft guns hidden in dozens of locations. There seemed to be no agreement higher-up regarding an offensive attack in Delacour territory.

_So defense it is._

Still, further damage to Cobalt Quarter was minimized by the addition of the Lancaster-Abderdeen soldiers. _Something _is_ being accomplished by our being here. _

The highlights of Marcus’s days were, by far, his calls to Abby. While on the move, all that could be managed were short radio conversations, but when stationary for a couple days or more, the equipment for video calls was set up and readily available in designated communication tents.

Those injured on the Cobalt-Delacour border often ended up being flown to Lancaster Center’s hospital after being stabilized in the overfilled bunker, and every doctor and nurse was feeling the strain, Abby included. Yet when he saw her on the often-glitching screen, she seemed more animated and energized than he’d seen her in a long time. _It makes sense. She’s the kind of person who needs a purpose, who needs a job to do. _

“_It’s hectic, but I’m getting the hang of it,_” she told him. “_What about you?_”

“It could be worse. In my unit...Let's just say it's a good thing Jo and Orion aren't officers. I like them both, but they fight like children unless they have direct orders not to or a job to do. As for the rest of the army...So far, there haven’t been any mass casualties...Just a lot of injured, as you know. I’m not sure how useful I am right now.”

“_Leslie said that your experience was quite useful at the start, so there’s _that.” Pause. “_Field medics are supposed to have military training, so __I was thinking about getting transferred to Cobalt Center instead, if possible. To help in the trauma ward. I’d be closer to you._..”

“I’d love to see you in person, Abby, but...The Delacours could bomb the bunker at any time. Rumor is they want to.”

“_They could bomb Lancaster Center, Marcus. That’s what all the antiaircraft guns are for, right? You can’t keep shielding me from everything._”

“I can try,” he muttered.

“_I heard that!_”

The day after that particular conversation, Marcus volunteered for an early-morning patrol, and his squad ran across a boat of a dozen or so Delacour soldiers trying to cross the river for a stealthy land strike. The battle ended better for the soldiers wearing blue, red, and green trimmed uniforms than for the ones wearing purple with the grey.

“We fired on them, and they didn’t retreat like I thought they would,” he told Abby that night. “They tried to keep going. In the end...There weren’t any left. The boat was swept downstream, capsized on some rocks.”

“_Marcus...They could’ve retreated, and they didn’t. You had to defend your position._”

Remembering the three soldiers he knew for certain had fallen due to bullets from his gun, Marcus said, “I hate killing, Abby. I used to do it out of necessity, on the Ark and on the ground...and I still am...but now, I just hate it.”

“_I know. You’re a good person, Marcus. You do what you have to. We all do._”

He tried to smile and changed the subject. “How’s Jonathan?”

“_Trying to convince his mother to let him join the rebel army, like most of his friends already have. She’s resisting, even though she’s the one who made it legal for __sixteen and__ seventeen-year-olds to sign up...I know General Leavey won’t be sending teens into combat unless absolutely necessary, so I don’t see the problem. Jonathan just wants to help, and he’s going crazy with next to nothing to do.._”

“Did you tell Leslie what you think?”

“_I almost want to. I’m not sure it’s a line I should cross_.”

“Well, she was right about him being her son, not ours.”

“_Not ours by blood, anyway._” Abby smiled ruefully. “_It is her decision, of course; he doesn’t turn eighteen for another six months._”

“They’ll figure it out.” Marcus sighed. “I miss you.”

“_I’m talking to you right now._”

“I mean, I miss being with you.” _I miss the feel of you in my arms, the feel of your hand in mine. I miss your scent, your lips, your breath against my skin. I miss…_

He didn’t say any of that out loud, but she understood. “_I miss you, too. So much._” Someone called to her off screen, and she said, “_I’m working tonight at the hospital. I have to go._”

“Okay. I love you.”

Her gaze softened as she looked at him. “_I love you, too._”

The call ended and Marcus sat back with another heavy sigh.

“You know, Kane, I once had a woman look at me like Doctor Griffin looks at you.”

He spun around; Jemma Torrent had entered the communication tent. Covering his surprise, he managed to say, “Really? What did you do about it?”

“I married her.”

“Oh, I...I didn’t realize you were married.”

“She’s a scientist and a social worker, not a soldier. If she was, I’d have her out here with me, instead of down in that damn Cobalt bunker.” Jemma sat down in an empty chair, watching him. “You did the right thing this morning.”

“I know. I just...I’m tired of it. I don’t...”

“Don’t like it? Yeah, I’m finding I don’t like a lot of things about war, either. We’re not alone in that.”

_Maybe that’s why everything went wrong with the clans. They somehow enjoyed conflict, made it a necessity. And we fed into it. _“I think that’s a good sign, not liking war at all. A good sign for the future of the Province.”

_Whatever happened to the Coalition, to Arkadia, whether it ended good or bad...maybe there’s hope here. Hope for a better world than the one we started with. _

He’d have to hold onto that.

* * *

The sweltering summer had begun to drain away into cooler autumn when the Delacours made a new kind of broadcast, one that sent almost everyone into state of horror and fury.

Three young men and one older woman, all accused of being rebel spies, were dragged out in front of the Delacour Town Hall and executed by firing squad on live television. In a multi-way video call meeting the next day that included mayors Lancaster, Aberdeen, and Cobalt, along with Jemma Torrent, Cyrus Leavey, and a couple other military officials, it was confirmed that only two of the people had actually been spies for the rebel cause.

_The Delacours are running out of patience. What will their next move be? A full-scale bombing of Cobalt Center? Lancaster Center burned to the ground? A wave of stealth assaults that we can’t push back? _

Those concerns and more were voiced during the meeting. “_We’ve captured a couple Delacour rats, right?_” Aberdeen said sourly. “_Those two who were sneaking around the bunker last month. Why don’t we use them to make our own statement?_”

Standing back, more of a obligatory guard than anything else, Marcus felt a wave of horror as most of the leaders, including Leslie, seemed to like this course of action. “You can’t do that.”

All eyes turned to him. “_Why not, Marcus?_” Leslie said, her gaze like ice despite the physical distance. “_An eye for an eye, right?_”

“Trust me, I’ve seen where _that_ goes, and it’s not something you want.”

Mutters filled the room, then Jemma spoke up. “He has a point. Our prisoners are more useful alive than dead. And have we not been trying to win over the Delacour Quarter’s lower class, to undermine their remaining support system? Cold-blooded murder doesn’t seem to be the way to do that.”

The idea of an execution was dropped, and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m just glad General Torrent was on my side,” he confessed to Abby afterwards. It was late in the evening; almost everyone in the camp was settling down for another restless night. He heard a couple sentries bickering beyond the canvas walls of the communication tent; recognizing Jo Sonnet as one of them, Marcus tuned it out. “Jemma holds a lot of sway with the others, even Leslie. I can see why; she's a good leader. She's been holding us together out here.”

“_I’m glad she was on your side, too, and that they listened to both of you. I told you it’s a good thing that you’re there._”

Marcus half-smiled. “I’d like...I know that you and I are just Outdwellers, not really part of the Province, but...I just have this_ hope_. Hope that these people will be able to do better than...” The images of corpse-filled Mount Weather and of Chancellor Pike announcing the murder of hundreds of Grounders filled his mind. _Better than ours_. “Then again, I may just be...”

_Thud_. The noise came from outside, followed by too much quiet. 

“_What was that?_” Abby asked.

“I don’t know. Jo?” he called, “Is everything all right out there?”

_No answer. _

He glanced at the screen; Abby looked back at him with concern. “Abby, I should go...”

Suddenly, her eyes widened. “_Marcus, behind you!_”

Halfway through turning around, he felt something slam into the side of his head, sending white-hot daggers of pain through his skull. Falling from his chair with a hoarse cry, he felt something thin and cold jabbing into his neck.

The last thing he heard was Abby screaming his name.


	15. Beneath the Heavy Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like it's Marcus's turn to be put through hell...

The world was made of shifting colors and distant noises and things falling out of order. Spots of clarity flickered in and out of existence among the shadows. Voices rose and fell, words tangling and taking an eternity to decipher. Everything hurt until it went numb, and then happened all over again.

Scenes played out, and none of it made sense, until it did.

He was kneeling in a golden room in a row of other bound people, listening to someone shout loud enough to shake the tinkling crystal chandelier far overhead.

“You didn’t need to wallop him over the head first, you dolt! Plato wanted him undamaged! And you somehow failed to get anyone else of worth?”

“_You have to know your enemy, exactly what you’re up against. I think that’s the first rule of war, and there’s a reason for that.” _

“_For now consider our enemy known. What next?” _

“Get rid of the extras.” Gunshots. Dull thuds. Cold, stone grey eyes boring into his in the golden room. “But you’re a problem.”

Blue-white lights and metal tables and people wearing masks. Eager voices and needles.

“_How...__how __long__ was I...__?”_

“_Seventeen days.” _

“_Oh...Is Maxim dead?”_

“_I think so. I heard he drowned.” _

_Exhaustion. Bewilderment. “He called me a problem...”_

“Do you fear pain, Outdweller?” A man with a pallid, expressionless face, watery eyes, and a strangely pompous voice loomed over him. “Pain is rarely effective. Fear itself works better, I’ve found.”

_Laying on the floor of the Ark with the lights out. Falling through the atmosphere. Trapped under tons of rubble. Chained to a wall, surrounded by _her _cries of pain__. Alone in a tangled forest. Watching _her_ collapse under the floodwater. __Being trapped so far away from their people. __Hearing _her_ scream __for him__. _

Something entered his veins, something that sent his heart pounding and muscles seizing. Horrible images filled his mind, horrible sounds, real and magnified by whatever it was in him, making his entire being shriek in terror.

_Mutated, hairless beasts like giant wolves with blood-dripping from their jaws. _ _Sounds like a thousand insects crawling up a wall. _ _Crowds of innocent people trapped and burning to death. Maxim Bronze pinning Abby to a _ _dirty_ _ floor. _ _A hundred other horrible things in an endless stream. _

It all stopped, leaving him trapped in a tiny room with only distant, unfamiliar sobs and alarming whispers as company. At length he would be dragged out, tied down, feel uncontrollable panic building up inside at the return of the awful sights and sounds. _It’s all fake, those things can’t hurt you..._Then the drug would be in his system again and the fear wouldn’t leave until he was limp on the floor of his cell again.

“_I’ll call you as soon as I can.”_

_A kiss and a smile, from the most beautiful woman he'd ever known._“_You’d better.” _

_A hug from a teary-eyed teenager._ _“May we meet again.” _

“_We will.” _

Somewhere, the whispers told him, bombs were falling.

* * *

Slowly, in the stretches of time between doses of fear-drug, his head started to feel less fuzzy and his mind grew clearer.From the earlier tumult and snatches of conversation between guards, he began putting more pieces together.

_In the cover of the outrage over the __execution, the Delacours sent a team across the Violet River to capture a number of “important people”, including General Torrent. They failed on most counts. The others captured were “unimportant” and were killed. _He couldn’t remember their faces, but he thought he remembered recognizing some of their voices. _I had some sort of concussion. Plato Delacour, the man who wrote the letters for the Amphitheater, is doing something to me, “fear experimenting”..._Even the thought of those wide, pale, unblinking eyes sent shudders through his body. _The people sobbing somewhere nearby are from the Amphitheater. Jasmine Jade is among them…__I don’t actually know where we are..._

Even as his head cleared, however, it grew harder and harder to handle the fear that surged through him every time a guard approached, every time he heard something scratching at a wall, every time he saw a metal instrument or a needle. _I always disliked needles, but now…_

With every injection of Plato’s drug and every session, Marcus could feel his sanity chipping away, as more and more things began to terrify him, leaving him with less and less control over his own mind and body. _Dogs barking. Heights. High-pitched laughter. Scissors. Knives. Bright lights. Doors opening. Complete darkness. The smell of smoke. Loud voices. Tall shadows. __Large animals. Towering trees. Vivid colors. People hurting Abby. _

The last was the worst, because he’s already been afraid of Abby being harmed. But he’d never felt like he might _not_ try to help her because of his own fear.

_Plato’s right. Pain is nothing next to _ _this much _ _fear..._

With pain, he’d always had the chance to overcome it. But this never-ending terror paralyzed him so thoroughly that he became unable to fight it anymore.

_Just let Abby be okay...She’s strong, she’ll survive. She has Jonathan, and Leslie and Lacey...She’ll see this through, and get back to our people…_

Occasionally there would be questions, about the rebel forces, about their defenses. If Marcus answered, and he wasn’t sure if he ever did, the answers didn’t seem to be enough to _make it stop._

Sometimes, Alan Delacour would appear in the lab where his cousin Plato conducted his experiments. He didn’t seem to want information and stayed out of sight, but he could be heard, rambling on about things, some that might have been interesting if Marcus weren’t currently in hell.

“Before the war that ended the old world, the Delacours, Lancasters, Aberdeens, and Cobalts were some of the wealthiest in the world. The Cobalts made their fortune through science, the Aberdeens through an industry of construction, the Lancasters through monopolizing power sources, and the Delacours...Our empire was built on many things.”

“That brand on your arm must have painful to receive. You know Plato and his predecessor always wanted to brand Amphitheater prisoners? It never got through the mayor’s office, sadly...I’ll have to look into it, once we win this war and the Amphitheater is repaired.”

“It was a scientist employed by the Cobalts who came up with the serum that saved so many from radioactive fallout...not one hundred percent effective; others were attempting a better solution at the time...but it was good enough. We tried to pick out the best of the riffraff for injection, for population fodder...A difficult task, I assure you.”

"I've tried to be reasonable. They may call me cruel, but I'm not stupid. A violent war could decimate our population to an extent we might never recover from. I do not wish to risk that. Neither do the rebels, not yet. But I am left with little choice." 

“I used to like Outdwellers in the Amphitheater; it could become so dull sometimes. Then we captured you and your woman, and...We didn’t fully realize you were from that space station until too late. We thought that thing had just run out of air and finally fallen after so many years, killing everyone inside.”

“My brother was so indolent when it came to the Amphitheater. When new batch of tracking shackles were made, he ordered that some components were left out, for efficiency’s sake. We could have simply electrocuted you for looking the wrong way otherwise.”

“We knew someone was up there in space. We also knew whoever was up there had nuclear weapons, so of course, we took precautions to make sure we would be missed...and any calls from above would go ignored, like those from that little government bunker in Mount Weather.”

“I doubt you’ll be alive at the end of Plato’s experiments. He does get carried away sometimes. But I wanted you to know that when the Amphitheater is back in working order, the Lancaster brat and your precious Abby will be the first put back in. And that Ky Darren, too. Those Cobalts and their pets...Almost as bad as Lancasters and Aberdeens. Almost. They’re all difficult, to be honest.”

“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused? For almost a hundred years, we had peace. Then you came along and enabled the dissenters to bring it all crashing down."

Alan Delacour’s voice became something else that Marcus feared.

* * *

He didn’t know how much time passed in this hellish existence, just that his cell, with its dull grey walls and relative quiet, became his only sanctuary. And even that was debatable, as at times the mere voices of the guards would set his heard racing and noises in the walls would make him cower.

_It’s too much...Everything is too much…_

Bits and pieces of his life flickered past his eyes. _His mother showing him how to water the Eden Tree. An Earth Skills class. Watching an old football game with friends. Abby in an airlock. His mother bleeding out in his arms. Breathing Earth's air for the first time. Walking beside Abby on a stretcher, her hand in his. Working with Bellamy and the former delinquents to build a more secure home. Seeing children play outside in Arkadia. Repairing the cabin in the Amphitheater. Laughing with Jonathan. Laying on the beach in the lake cove with Abby._ It all started to feel so far away, dreamlike and tinted dark by the insidious fear clouding his memories. 

Nothing felt real except what terrified him.

Time went on with no day or night, and he drifted in and out of unconsciousness between bouts of terror. The mere sound of footsteps approaching sent him into a panic attack more often than not, and during one of them he scrambled back into a corner, shutting his eyes and curling around himself, mumbling without thinking, “Please, don’t, stop, please...The pounding of his heart filled his ears and drowned out everything, including the fact that no rough hands were dragging him out, including the voice that took so long..._Seconds? Minutes? Hours?..._to reach him.

“Marcus, I’m not going to hurt you! Marcus! Marcus, look at me! _Marcus!_”

Confused, he opened his eyes, blinking to clear his gaze and struggling to control his breathing. What he saw didn’t make any sense.

“..._Abby?_”

"I found you." Kneeling in front of him, eyes full of tears, she let out a choked laugh. “Hey. I’m here. It’s okay.”

He stared at her, trying to process what he was seeing. _Abby. Wearing a military uniform. Her hair in a short, messy ponytail. Breathing like she just ran for miles. The scar down her left cheek, a paler shade of pink than the last time I saw her. _He reached out to touch it, fingers shaking. “It’s...it’s you,” he whispered. "You're _here_..." _How did she get here...wherever here is...Why...I don't..._

“Yes, it’s me.” She ran her fingers through his tangled hair and down through his untrimmed beard. She shook her head, expression pained, murmuring, “What did they do to you, Marcus?”

A figure appeared in the doorway, and Marcus flinched violently.

“Abby, we need to get out of here!” Orion Fisher said, panting. “We're almost out of time...Oh, my God, _Marcus_...Is he okay?”

_Too much, too loud…_He drew back, everything in him screaming for him to hide away, to hide from all of it. _Too much...I can't..._

Abby’s voice reached him again. “He’ll be fine, Orion. You’ll need to help me get him up.” Then, more gently, “Marcus, I can tell you’re scared. But I need you to work with me, with us. Hold yourself together long enough for us to get you out, and it'll be okay.”

_No, it's too much..._He shuddered, terror coursing through his veins like blood. “I...I can’t...Just leave me...”

“No way in _hell_ I’m doing that.” Her hands cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. “I came here to save you. Because _I love you_. We’re in this together, remember?”

He looked into her lovely fierce eyes, and for a second, he was able to swallow his fear. _I can't...I _won't_ fail her. Not after everything. __We’re in this together. T_he animal part of his mind cried out in fear, and he trembled when he tried to stand, to move forward, but with help he managed. _We're in this together._

As they rushed down the twisting hallways filled with loud noises and bodies, Abby ahead, Orion supporting him, Marcus focused on those four words, repeating them over and over again to block out the fear stimuli striking at him from every direction. _We’re in this together, we’re in this together..._Abby needed him to not be afraid, just for a little while. _We’re in this together, we’re in this together, we’re in this together…_

He kept thinking it as they turned a corner to find a Delacour guard rushing at them. He kept thinking it even as the man lifted his weapon, shouting and aiming for Abby.

_We’re in this together._

Marcus kept thinking it right up until the moment Abby raised a handgun and shot the guard in the head.

* * *

**(End of Part 2)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! :)


	16. Surrounded

**(Beginning of Part 3: The Hope)**

_When the world says, "Give up," Hope whispers, "Try it one more time."_

_\- _Unknown

* * *

Everywhere Abby went, there were too many people and too many whispers.

“..._I heard they tried to abduct General Torrent and she broke two men’s necks with her bare hands...Things will just get worse now that the Delacours’ plan of intimidation failed..They’ll bomb Cobalt Center...General Leavey’s calling for a direct assault on Delacour Center, or so they say...Both sides lost maybe a dozen soldiers...They captured some low__er__ level officers, and the male Outdweller...Yes, __they got __Marcus Kane..._”

It had been two hours since Abby, from her seat in Lacey Mallard’s office, had watched Marcus being knocked out and dragged off by men in Delacour uniforms, two hours since her panicked screams had drawn the attention of everyone in the vicinity, two hours since reports had started coming in about a Delacour stealth assault on several rebel camps along the Violet River.

_It’s been two hours since anyone’s heard anything about Marcus._

People had hovered around Abby since then, trying to offer comfort or assistance and generally failing. She’d finally broken through her shock and pushed them off with the excuse, “I need some air,” and headed up three flights of stairs towards the corner of the hospital roof that wasn’t connected to the aircraft landing pad. _There’s too many people there most of the time. _

In a tactical sense, most of the Delacours’ grand “abduction plan” had failed; Abby knew that. The highest-level targets, such as General Jemma Torrent, had successfully evaded capture. Similar abductions of rebel leaders had been attempted in the Aberdeen and Lancaster territories at the same time. Harold Aberdeen and his guards had just disappeared into the nearby woods and the Delacour soldiers hadn’t made it within twenty miles of Lancaster Center due to vigilant civilians and soldiers alike. For the rebels, this was all good news, to an extent.

_But not for me. _

Reaching the roof and stumbling to the low wall that ran around the edge, Abby slumped against it, drawing her knees to her chest and burying her face in her hands. Something icy cold and unyielding expanded in her chest, encasing her frantically-beating heart and stifling it.

_The Delacours have Marcus. _

The question wasn’t if they would hurt him. The question was _how_.

_Will they isolate him, try to drive him insane? Will they torture him for information, since he’s been working so closely with General Torrent? Will they drag him out on live television and execute him? _She knew the last was likely. Marcus wasn’t an actual leader here any more than she was. But she’d slowly come to realize over the past few months that they _did _represent something.

_We represent the failure of a once-invincible system. They brought us in, and we put in motion the plan that brought down the Amphitheater’s wall. _

They’d grown to be more than that, too. Marcus had joined the rebels and advised their leaders. Abby had proved herself a more than competent doctor over and over again since the war proper began. In the eyes of the Delacours, they’d doubtlessly become more and more of “a problem.”

_Now Marcus is paying for it. _

For a moment, she imagined Marcus, perhaps broken by torture, being brought out in front of the Delacour Town Hall being forced to face down the firing squad..._Because of course he’d face them down; he wouldn’t look away, wouldn’t even flinch..._and then being…

She dug her fingernails into her hair, slamming her mental doors shut on the scene before the executioners could start firing. _I can’t lose him. I can’t do it again. I can’t. _

An autumn wind under a grey sky chilled her skin through her hospital scrubs, yet she didn’t move. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her face, replaced as fast as they fell. It could have been hours that she sat there, one thought running through her mind endlessly, just like it had months ago, on that awful day in Arkadia.

_I can’t do this again. _

At length, the frigid something in her chest managed to constrict her heart further. _But what if I have to?_

Abruptly, the tears stopped. The ice in her chest crept outward, spreading through her limbs, then through her mind.

_If there’s a way_ _to save him, I will. If there isn’t…_

“Abby?”

She lifted her head, blinking away the last of her tears to find Jonathan crouching beside her. “Aunt Lacey said you’d be up here.”

Nodding stiffly, she tried to come up with something to say. Before she could, the teenager had shifted to sit next to her and started to speak. “I can’t believe it. I was with Gus...He had a few hours off from duties, so we were hunting...We got back to the house, and Mom was waiting...” He drew a shaky breath. “I should’ve...I haven’t even spoken to him lately...”

Jonathan had joined Abby during her video calls with Marcus a couple times, but not for the past few days. “It’s okay, Jonathan. You were busy doing other things. He understood.”

“It’s not okay.” The teen met her gaze, eyes too shiny. “If..if he...I never even told him how important...”

“He knew. He knows.” _He’s not dead yet. He can’t be._ Abby pulled Jonathan into a tight embrace. “Marcus knows how much you care about him. And I know he loves you.”

The boy started to cry softly, and Abby held him, rocking gently back and forth and stroking his hair. But no more tears fell from her eyes. She didn’t have time for them anymore. _First take care of Jonathan, then onto the next step: figure out how to save Marcus. If that doesn’t work...if he..._

If Marcus died, she was going to raze the entire damn Delacour Quarter to the ground.

_I’ve had enough of losing the people I love. _

* * *

There was, as it turned out, nothing to be done that night.

Lacey had sent them both home. It took time, but Abby convinced Jonathan to go to bed. She then retreated to her own rooms in the Lancaster house, only to be hit again with _missing Marcus_, and went out on the balcony instead of getting ready for bed. Leaning on the railing, wrapped in a dark green sweater that Marcus had once mentioned she looked beautiful in, she stared out over Lake Summer as the light faded from the cloudy sky, leaving her in darkness that couldn’t remotely compare to the shadows seething inside of her.

Running over the ever-growing list of people she’d lost, she wondered, _How much can someone lose before they lose their mind, too? _

The knock on the frame of the balcony doors behind her came unexpectedly, yet she didn’t turn as Leslie said, “I knocked on the door to your rooms. You didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t hear it.”

She felt the mayor step up beside her, heard the other woman let out a sigh. “I’m so sorry, Abby. About Marcus.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It could be. I asked for his help, suggested to General Torrent that he might be useful. Got him sent to the front lines.” Pause. “Then he went and disagreed with me in front of all the other leaders, so...”

“You wanted to get back at the Delacours for what they did to those rebel spies and innocents. Marcus doesn’t believe in revenge.”

“Do you?”

Abby didn’t answer for a long time. _I would usually say no. But…_“Right now...I don’t know.” 

Leslie sighed again. “My mother died when I was sixteen. My father...he held on for another five years, but...He was broken. He’d been an incredible leader...and something of a revolutionary, albeit one who sought a peaceful route to change...for decades. After being so strong his entire life, after being everything I wanted to be for so long...The love of his life died, and that was it for him. I told myself then that I’d never make the same mistake.”

Absorbing this information, Abby said, “Are you trying to tell me to let Marcus go if they...To not let myself break?”

“I suppose _should_ be telling you that." Leslie snorted. “When the Delacours tried to destroy my child via their precious Amphitheater...It doesn’t matter if they ultimately failed. I was ready to burn them for even trying. I’m still ready to.”

“So you’re saying you understand my anger. You understand how I feel about..._them_.”

“Believe me, I do. I never loved anyone in the same way that you love Marcus. However…”

“You have Jonathan. And they took him, too.”

“Exactly.” Leslie seemed to hesitate. “I haven’t been fair to you or Marcus.”

“You’ve done everything for us. Saved our lives, given us a place to live...” _Helped us find our purpose in the Province, __even if that led to..__._

“Yes, and I’ve resented you almost every step of the way. At first...I was just grateful. I watched you...both of you...save my son in the Amphitheater. Then I realized...I didn’t know my own child anymore, not as well as you do. I was jealous of how much he loved you, afraid I was going to lose him...”

“I think Jonathan already covered this, the night the Delacours blew up the power line junction.” Abby turned to the redheaded woman, suddenly drained of energy. “You’re his mother, and he loves you. You raised him. Marcus and I could never replace that, and we wouldn’t want to.”

“Yet you love him, almost like your own child.” With another deep sigh, Leslie continued, “A couple weeks ago, he and I were talking, and he disagreed with me on something or other, saying ‘Marcus always says this.’ Like on that night you mentioned, I got angry. I reminded him that Marcus isn’t his father. Do you know what he said?”

Silent, Abby shook her head.

“He said, ‘No, but he’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had.’ And he was right.” Running her hand over her long ponytail, Leslie said, “Marcus is a good man. I would’ve been his friend if I’d let myself. If there’s a way to bring him back to you, I’ll make it happen, Abby. He deserves that.”

“He does.” Abby bit her lip, forcing back an unforeseen onslaught of tears. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be making and releasing a video tomorrow, telling the Province in general and the Delacours in particular that this scheme of theirs won’t go ignored. But I’ll also recommend a prisoner exchange, just in case; our people guarding the Aberdeen and Lancaster Centers caught almost two dozen Delacour soldiers during this mess, so we’ve more of their people than they do ours. We won’t execute our prisoners, anyway.”

“It’s worth a try, I suppose.” Abby shut her eyes for a moment. “Marcus would approve.” _On both counts. _

“He and Jemma were right. The loyalty of the lower-class Delacour citizens is hanging by a thread. Murdering their family and friends who may not have been soldiers willingly in the first place...We won’t make any allies by doing that.”

_Marcus did get through to her. But I’m still angry. _“If they...if they kill him...Leslie...”

Leslie gave her a crooked grin. “I’ll get you a spot when us rebel leaders draw straws for who gets to put a bullet in Alan Delacour’s brain.”

Abby half-smiled back. _Sparing the innocents and the ones just following orders, and saving the punishment of death for all those truly guilty. I can live with that. If the worst happens...I can _look forward _to that. _

The shadows drowned any part of her that balked at that realization.

* * *

Leslie’s video aired to overwhelming approval among the rebels. It was easy to see why. With her blazing eyes and hair and powerful voice rolling out phrases like “_We will not be intimidated by the Delacours’ cowardly attempt at snatching our leadership_” and “_Alive or dead, the names of our captured brothers and sisters will become our latest battle cry_” and “_Let the elite see us stand together now, more determined than ever_,” Leslie was a figure to be reckoned with. As promised, she did mention a prisoner exchange, saying, “_In the spirit of equality and fairness for the continuing fight, we are willing to exchange an equal number of our prisoners for those the Delacours have taken like thieves in the night._”

The Delacours responded to the video with nothing for an entire week. Then, Alan Delacour made his own speech in front of his Town Hall, which now had a row of seven already-decomposing bodies hanging on either side of the main doors. The cameras did not shy away from them.

It took Abby an entire minute, during which she didn’t hear a word the enemy mayor was saying, to confirm that none of the bodies belonged to Marcus. Armed with that knowledge, she brought her breathing under control and concentrated on the end of the speech itself.

“_I have tried to wait out this resistance. I have tried to end it quickly with stealth and cunning. But now I see I have no choice. For all that it pains me..._” Alan Delacour looked directly into the camera nearest him. “_Brute force is all the rabble will understand. We will prevail, and the Province will endure. You have already lost._” A thin smile twisted his lips, and Abby’s skin crawled. “_You have already lost everything._”

That night, several Delacour aircraft managed to evade the antiaircraft guns along the Violet River and bombed Cobalt Center. Another group of aircraft targeted Aberdeen Center, and a third Lancaster Center.

Only the top level of Cobalt Center was damaged, leaving no casualties but a deeply shaken population. Aberdeen Center burned to the ground, thankfully with minimal loss of life as its people had long ago abandoned it for the wilderness. Lancaster aircraft managed to head off the attack to their Center, but the second-largest town, further south along the Province River, went up in flames. News of skirmishes along the Delacour-Cobalt and Delacour-Lancaster borders began to arrive daily, although under generals Torrent and Leavey, the rebel lines continued to hold firm. Security was upped almost everywhere. 

Abby found herself working almost around the clock in the overwhelmed, overcrowded Lancaster hospital. She caught a couple hours of sleep here and there, mostly when Jonathan would show up. They’d eat together and nap on the worn couches in Lacey Mallard’s office, then get up and head back to their respective duties; Leslie had let her son sign up the day she released the video.

The work and the ever-present people proved a welcome distraction from her anger, from the lurking shadows, and from thinking too much about Marcus, about whom there was no news at all. The bodies displayed on the Delacour Town Hall were dropped off in rebel territory shortly afterward; Marcus’s was definitely not among them. There was no execution, no announcement of his death. No rebel spies seemed to know anything. If he was being tortured for information, nothing in particular happened that suggested he’d given anything up.

“He could still be alive,” Jonathan said one day.

Abby had difficulty swallowing the spoonful of soup she’d just put in her mouth. “If he is, he’s probably worrying about us, the selfless fool.”

“Do you think they’re hiding what’s happened to him in order to hurt us?”

She set down her spoon harder than necessary. “That’s_ exactly_ what they’re doing.”

Almost two weeks after the video, after a relatively quiet day, Abby found herself walking to the Town Hall in the twilight. Leslie had called her at the hospital earlier, saying, “I’d like you and Jonathan to have dinner with me tonight, in my office. Nothing fancy, I just...”

“Need some kind of normalcy?”

"Something like that." 

This late in the day, the gloomy antechamber of the hall was more or less abandoned, though some curious noises from behind a pillar led to Abby investigating and getting a glimpse of Jonathan and his dark-haired “friend” Gus Skinner making out enthusiastically against a wall.

Beating a hasty retreat, Abby found herself actually suppressing a giggle. _I knew it. Marcus won’t believe..._Her humor vanished in an instant. _Oh, Marcus..._She hurried up to Leslie’s office, passing a couple guards with her head down, desperate to stave off the loneliness.

“Hello, Abby,” Leslie said, clearing her massive desk of papers and maps as Abby entered. “Did you see Jonathan anywhere?”

“He’ll be up in a few minutes, I expect,” Abby replied, crossing to look out the window onto the quieting streets. “Probably combing down his hair and trying not to look too ravished.”

“Just what he needs. Being in love on top of being a soldier.”

Noting the redhead’s glower at a computer tablet, Abby said, “Gus is a nice boy, though. Very polite and responsible.”

“What? Oh, I’m not worried about my son being with Gus Skinner, specifically. I just...At the moment I just wish Barry Brant would remember that not all of us speak tech-babble. Also, why is the food taking so long?” Leslie put aside the tablet and began to make her way to the door. “By the way, I think my sister’s getting close to making you her 'right-hand man', so to speak.”

“An official position at the hospital?” _So far I've just been some odd class of volunteer. _Surprised by the spark of excitement in her gut, Abby covered it by saying sarcastically, “All that responsibility at my age? Well, screw me, then.”

“I'd consider it, but you’re not single.”

Abby spun around to look at Leslie, who had paused halfway across the room, looking startled by her own joke even as she started smirking. 

_Laughing's better than crying, right? _A tiny grin growing on her own face, Abby said, “Even if I were, I’m afraid you’re not really my...”

Her words were cut off by a brisk knock, and the door opened a moment later.

Two men in ill-fitting green-trimmed uniforms. Three gunshots in quick succession.

Then Mayor Leslie Lancaster was laying on the floor in a growing pool of her own blood.


	17. Mayors Lancaster

Abby knew she dodged maybe two bullets from the assassins’ guns before the guards arrived and tackled them to the ground. She knew the assassins were cursing at the guards and the “Outdweller.” She knew the building would soon be crawling with Lancaster soldiers.

But all she could let herself think about was the woman bleeding out on the floor.

“Leslie, can you hear me? Leslie! Don’t move, okay?”

The bullets had hit at almost point-blank range, one in the lower abdomen, another higher up on Leslie’s right side, the third in the chest. _So much blood already… _“I need a medical team here _now_!” Abby shouted as more guards arrived, crowding the doorway. _I need help..._

The fact that Leslie was still breathing at all..._Breath rattling,_ _spitting__ up blood and foam; the second bullet __damaged her lung__..._told her that the third had missed the heart. She swallowed hard when she realized where it must’ve hit instead. _The aorta, or damn close._

She forced herself to take a breath, snapping into doctor mode. “Stay with me, Leslie,” she said firmly, pressing down with both hands on the deceptively-tiny hole that scared her the most out of the three. “Just stay with me; we’ll fix this...”

Skin already drained of color, Leslie flailed her hands, managing to grip Abby’s wrist with both. Between choked, bloody gasps, she whispered, “Jon...Jonathan...please...he...”

Abby saw the other woman’s greying pallor, felt the cold sweat beading on her skin. The bloodstain around them continued to grow, even though, given the placement of the bullets, the worst of the bleeding had to be inside. People were shouting nearby, yet it all felt so distant as the realization hit.

Decades of triage on the Ark had taught Abby too well.

_She’s not going to make it. _

Keeping one hand pressed down regardless, she wrapped the other around Leslie’s trembling fingers. “I’ll take care of him,” she said. “I promise. I swear I’ll make sure he makes it through this, through all of it.”

Leslie’s face seemed to relax the tiniest bit even as more blood bubbled past her lips and the rest of her body continued to shudder with the effort of drawing each breath. Speaking more out of instinct than conscious thought, Abby said, “In peace, may you leave this shore. In love, may you find the next.” The grasp of the fingers clutching hers weakened. “Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.” The mayor’s expression slackened, eyes unfocused. “May we meet again.”

“_Mom!_”

Jonathan shoved his way through the gathering swarm of Lancaster soldiers and fell to his knees across from Abby, reaching for his mother’s hands. “No, no...Mom, please, don’t..._Mom_...”

For a moment, Leslie’s gaze refocused on her son’s face. Another breath hissed into stillness, and the fire in her brilliant blue gaze flickered out.

A heartbeat passed, and Jonathan went very, very still.

Slowly, Abby sat back, looking around helplessly. The assassins had long since been removed; the guards who hadn’t taken them hovered around, seeming reluctant to move or make any more calls. _Someone needs to alert whoever...whoever is in charge now..._Loud voices echoed down the hallways, some drawing nearer. _More soldiers, maybe a medical team, just too late..._Somewhere in the distance, a siren blared. _How long until everyone knows what for?_

A movement caught her attention, and she glanced over in time to see Jonathan reaching out to close his mother’s eyes. Then he looked at her.

She'd never seen his gaze so cold.

“_Why didn’t you save her?_”

* * *

_Why didn’t I save her? _Abby numbly watched water stained pink with the last of the blood caked to her body run down the drain, and at last answered the question, albeit only to herself.

_Because I couldn’t. _ _No one could have. _

About six hours had passed since Leslie Lancaster’s death. Her body had been removed from the Town Hall, to where Abby wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure where Jonathan had gone, either. _Probably with his mother. __With what’s left of her. _

She herself had been held back for questioning about the incident; she didn’t remember the questions or her answers. Afterward, Cyrus Leavey had asked to speak with her privately in the auxiliary mayor’s office, a smaller room than the one with a new bloodstain on the floor.

The general had confirmed what Abby had already guessed. “The assassins were sent by Alan Delacour. Apparently it was the only attempt; they were damn good to slip past our security. But so far, there’s been no reports of similar..._attempts_ in the Cobalt and Aberdeen Quarters.” He’d let out a stream of low curses before continuing, “As the head of the military in a time of war, I’m in charge of Lancaster Quarter for the time being.”

When he dismissed her, Abby had drifted through the building, meaning to go somewhere and failing to remember where, lost between raging shadows and silent bewilderment.

_Leslie’s dead...Oh, God, Jonathan’s lost his mother…The Quarter’s lost its leader…What happens to the rebels now?…The Delacours won this round, too...How many more people do I have to watch die?_

Someone had found her and sent her in a car to the hospital, where a couple nurses she knew had checked her over. “Did they try to shoot you, too?” one had asked, the news having spread through the entire Quarter like wildfire.

She’d shrugged off the concern. “I...I think so...I’m not hurt...I’m fine...Let me just...”

Partway through cleaning herself up, she'd been found by Lacey. Sobbing, the blonde woman had pulled Abby into a long hug. “I can’t believe she’s gone...I saw her body...Jonathan wanted to be left alone with her...My poor husband’s trying to explain it to the twins...”

Abby had offered comfort, suggested that Lacey take of Jonathan, then go to her family. “They all need you. I can make sure everything’s taken care of here for the night.”

In the end, Abby had only had to give a few nudges to younger, shocked staff members. Everyone else continued to do their jobs admirably, though nobody seemed able to process_ it_ fully.

_Mayor Lancaster is dead. _

Apparently, Lancaster Quarter had never before lost a mayor to violent means.

When Abby left the hospital, the streets had seemed quiet. Yet the entire town vibrated with terrified whispers, angry murmurs, and soft, sorrowful cries.

_Maybe the Lancasters were a ruling dynasty of sorts, not elected and not removable, but the people loved Leslie. _

Abby hadn’t realized how much blood was still on her hands and clothes until she reached the Lancaster house. She’d headed up to her room to shower and change, alone in the beautiful lake house. _Sara’s gone home for the night, Lacey’s with her family, Jonathan’__s__…somewhere, and Marcus..._

She'd already lost him. 

She climbed out of the now-empty tub, dried herself off, and put on a set of clean clothes, most of them black. _How appropriate. _

The rage boiled up with a suddenness that stole her breath. Rage at the assassins, at the Delacours, at the guards that had failed to protect their leader and at herself who had been unable to save her. _Why did we have to lose her? If someone had to die, why not me? _

Leslie had been far from the first in the Province to dream of revolution. However, since it had truly begun, she had been at the forefront of it. Not as a soldier on the field, but as a leader who chose the course of the fight, who inspired her people.

_There are others. Cassandra Cobalt, Harold Aberdeen, General Torrent, Leavey...They’ll keep fighting._ I’ll_ keep fighting. _Abby leaned against the oak dresser, still angry but with exhaustion overwhelming her. _It just feels so hard right now. _

Outside in the darkness, in the direction of the town center, the yelling started.

Stiffening, Abby listened. _Shouts, screaming, things breaking...A riot? _

She found herself exiting the house, standing alone on the porch, ignoring the chilly air and listening closely. _Definitely a riot of some kind. _The darkness from without and within curled around her, shielding her as she ran through the empty outer streets, headed for the noises she couldn’t ignore.

She slowed when she got close enough to see the source of the sounds, hiding in an alley to get a good look.

The main street that ran in front of the Town Hall was lit up by the usual street lights and hundreds of unexpected, blazing torches. People, men and women of all ages, were gathering, hundreds of them raising their voices and waving their fists and everyday household objects like weapons. The crowd swelled larger every second, twisted faces tinted red by the torchlight. Abby felt a small amount of relief when she spotted uniformed soldiers among the crowd; that relief faded when she realized that they weren’t trying to restore order.

_Some are joining in. _

“Doctor Griffin? Doctor Griffin!” Gus Skinner hurried up to her, breathing heavily. “What are you doing here? I was looking for Jonathan...”

“What’s happening?” she asked, raising her voice over the din of the crowd.

“Word got out...The assassins are in the town prison with the other Delacour prisoners from before...People are demanding the death of all of them...”

_So t_ _his isn’t a riot. It’s a lynch mob. _

The prison was a couple blocks from the Town Hall. Sticking to the alleyways, Abby began to make her way in that direction, Gus beside her. “Most of the soldiers are joining everyone else,” the teenager told her. “And I can’t find Jonathan...He said he was at his aunt’s, but I checked there...”

_If he’s out in this...__I don’t blame any of them, but s__omeone’s going to get hurt, and not necessarily on purpose. _“Gus, I’m getting lost. Can you...”

“Yeah, the prison’s right this way....”

They reached the unoccupied side of the squat grey building just as several prison guards came out of the main doors, dragging the two assassins. Some soldiers and other guards were halfheartedly holding back the bloodthirsty citizens, but the cleared space between the building and the crowd was steadily shrinking.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The prison chief came striding out, bellowing at his subordinates. “You can’t bring prisoners out here in this!”

“The people demanded it!” one of them yelled back. “They killed Mayor Lancaster!”

“I say we kill all the loyalist Delacour citizens!” another shouted. This was met with a roar of approval from the crowd.

“_Go get them, too!_”

“_Bring them all out!_”

“_Make an example of them!_”

Abby was caught between nausea and elation. _I want them all dead right now, too. _She understood the crowd, just like Leslie had understood her that day on the balcony. _They deserve it. They’re the enemy..._

“_I hate killing, Abby. I used to do it out of necessity, on the Ark and on the ground...and I still am...but now, I just hate it.” _

This wasn’t lawful. This wasn’t killing out of necessity. These weren’t even the people truly to blame for Leslie's death. 

_They_ should_ be punished, but not like this. _

The prison chief and the guards backing him up managed to get hold of the prisoners and drive the dissenters back towards the crowd, which only made them press forward more. Someone shouted, “_Death for death!_” and the chant spread like lightning, rippling through the mass of people and growing increasingly louder. It sounded eerily close to “_blood must have blood._”

_What would Marcus do?_

The sight of Cyrus Leavey standing back, not participating but not intervening either, was the final straw. Abby took a deep breath and, ignoring Gus’s panicked protest, strode out between the crowd and the prisoners. Recognizing her, one of the foremost rioters yelled, “Get out of the way, Outdweller!”

“_No._”

The man looked taken aback, and the people nearest him fell silent. Abby squared her shoulders, holding her head high. “You don’t want to do this.” Her voice carried into the rapidly quieting crowd.

“Why not?” a woman shot back, harshly. She shoved her way forward, brandishing a gleaming carving knife at the kneeling prisoners. “They deserve it! They killed...”

“I _know_ they killed Leslie! I was_ there_! She bled out_ in front of me!_” Abby paused, drawing a shaky breath. “The Delacours have hurt all of us! They’ve caused thousands of needless deaths for nearly a century. They’ve bombed towns and burned villages. They’ve taken friends, loved ones, and now they’ve taken one of our leaders. Believe me, I want the Delacours to suffer for what they’ve done as much as any of you do! But this _isn’t the way to do it_.”

She hesitated, and the crowd stayed silent, waiting. Swallowing, she went on, “The prisoners you want to kill here and now were just following orders, just trying to protect their own families. Taking them down in battle is one thing, but like this...this is _murder_. This is what _they _would do. Save your anger for the ones who deserve it. We’ll need it when we take down Alan Delacour and his leading elites for good.

“_They’re_ the monsters, not these soldiers. And they _will _pay! Until then...If you want to prove to the Delacours that you’re better than them, then _do better_. Don’t sink to their level. Don’t give _them_ that satisfaction. But if you must...Then you’re going to have to strike me down first. Because I’m not going to move.”

A wave of furious murmurs swept the crowd, and Abby felt a surge of terror.

_They’re going to kill me, and then they're going to kill the prisoners. _

Then someone stepped up beside her. “She’s right!” Jonathan Lancaster called. “We _will_ make them all pay for what they’ve done, but in the right way, the lawful way. _Not_ like this. _This_ is anarchy, and I know my mother wouldn’t stand for it.”

_They're listening. He _is_ the next mayor, after all..._

As Gus, the prison chief, and eventually Cyrus Leavey moved to back her up, Abby tried to give Jonathan a grateful look. He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

The general took command, his soldiers fell into line, and the prisoners were returned to their cells unharmed. By the time the crowd dispersed and order was completely restored, dawn was fast approaching and a light rain had begun to fall. Abby and Jonathan walked back to the Lancaster residence side-by-side, now tailed discreetly by guards.

They didn’t speak to each other until they were in the entryway of the house. “Thank you,” Abby said. “I wasn’t...” _I didn’t know what they were going to do. _

“You were right,” Jonathan said dully, eyes on the floor. “We can’t just…_go wild_, no matter how angry we are. It won't stop here, and...That kind of thing never ends well.”

“Your...your mother would be proud.”

“You sure about that?”

_No, I’m not. If aggravated enough, Leslie would have led the way to the prison. _

Jonathan pinned her with his piercing gaze. “Marcus would be proud of me. Wouldn’t he?”

“...Yes. He would be.”

The boy shivered. “I’m so tired. But I’m also so...I just want this all to end.”

“As do I.” _We want to _make_ it end. _

Seeing how small, how fragile the boy seemed, she took a step towards him. He backed away. “Abby, I...I think I need to be alone.”

She stopped, bit her lip, nodded. “Okay. I’m...I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

_He thinks I failed him. Maybe I did. _

Pausing the top of the stairs, she heard the thudding sound of knees hitting a wooden floor, followed by a stream of deep, gut-wrenching sobs.

Abby's heart constricted in her chest. _I want this all to end. _

The next day, she signed up as a field medic.


	18. The Plan

Almost a year ago, back when Arkadia was still Camp Jaha and the sights and smells of the Earth still seemed new, Marcus had given Abby a preliminary lesson on how to hold and fire a handgun. Otherwise, her practical military knowledge roughly amounted to “duck and cover.”

With that and her not-old-but-not-exactly-young age in mind, the basic training required for rebel field medics should have been daunting.

_I don’t have time to be daunted. _

If mandatory firearm practice with targets shaped like human silhouettes made the trained “do no harm” part of her mind rise up in protest, she shoved it down. If the trainers questioned her ability as an almost-soldier even as they praised her medical skills, she kept herself from reacting overtly to either. If the physical and mental exertion of each day left her shaking and exhausted and hardly able to make it to one of the uncomfortable camp beds, she felt grateful for it.

_If _ _I’m _ _exhausted enough, I don’t dream. And I don't have time to miss Marcus. _

She had a goal now, and focused on it with all her strength...and her anger.

Lacey and others from the hospital tried to talk her out of it, saying she was “better suited” to staying where she’d been. Whenever she ran into Gus Skinner, he demanded to know if she was holding up all right. Even General Leavey asked her, “Are you sure this is the best use of your skills?”

She responded to everyone with nothing more than a curt “Yes,” until Jonathan tracked her down one evening, eight days after his mother’s death. It was the first time they’d been alone together since after the riot. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What I have to.”

The teenager glowered at her, and she was reminded painfully of Clarke. _Not now. _

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you think your getting shot on a battlefield is going to make things any better?”

“No, Jonathan, I...” Abby sighed. “This isn’t...I’m doing my part for the cause and...then there’s Marcus. I couldn’t...I couldn’t save your mother, so I’m more determined than ever to save him.”

With a pained expression, Jonathan said, “There’s been no news...”

“Yes. That means there’s still a chance he’s alive and can be rescued. And it’ll be during some kind of military operation.”

“So...You have to be a field medic or a soldier to be directly involved. You feel like you have to do it yourself.”

“I do. Or at least I'll be closer.” Abby put her hands on the boy’s shoulders and felt relieved when he didn’t pull away. “Jonathan, I...I _need_ this. I need to be doing this. It’s how I’m holding myself together.”

Eyes downcast, he said quietly, “Yeah, I...I feel the same way, about being in the army, doing patrols, training...But I don’t feel like I’m doing _enough_.”

_We all feel that sometimes. _“Sweetheart, you’re seventeen and you just lost your mom. No one expects you to do more.”

“Not until I turn eighteen and automatically become mayor, anyway.” He lifted his head with a ghost of a smile, which soon faded. “It...I know it wasn’t your fault, Abby. Mom...I know you did everything you could. I’m so sorry I pushed you away...I just...”

She cut him off by hugging him tightly, closing her eyes as he returned the embrace. “I know, Jonathan. I know. And I'm sorry, too.”

* * *

Time wore on and the war continued much as it had previously, with one major change.

The rebels went on the offensive.

Upon the assassination of Leslie Lancaster, the rage that had been building against the Delacours for nearly a century turned into the roaring inferno that Marcus had once said he feared. Yet, aside from the Lancaster Center riot...much of which had been caught on camera, incidentally...the inferno was controlled just enough.

_I was right about one thing; we did need _ _that anger. _

The regular skirmishes on the edge of rebel territory became regular skirmishes on Delacour lands. Rebel aircraft made multiple forays into enemy territory, destroying several supply lines and heading off a couple air assaults before they even reached the border. Every single person in the Cobalt, Aberdeen, and Lancaster Quarters joined in on the war effort as much as possible, and going off the information from increasingly-helpful spies, much of the lower class in the largest Quarter were nearing open revolt themselves. The caution that had guided many of the actions on both sides was rapidly crumbling, and it was benefiting the rebels the most.

_Something’s shifted. Leslie’s death wasn’t for nothing, after all._

Abby soon grew used to prepping med kits and catching naps during aircraft rides, as she and the other field medics were constantly being transported between Lancaster Center and shifting battlefields. She grew used to the feel of a military uniform, to the weight of a handgun at her hip, to sound of dozens of bullets flying close enough to be dangerous. Most soldiers, rebel and loyalist, would typically hesitate before aiming at someone wearing a medic’s white armband, but during battles fought mostly in forests and meadows with no clear dividing lines, the danger of being hit by accidental fire from either side was ever present.

_It's nothing I haven't seen before, not really. _

Between saving as many lives as she could on the battlefield and spending every spare moment back at Lancaster Center with Jonathan, Abby found herself startled when she realized Leslie had been dead for over three weeks, and Marcus missing for five. Harvests had somehow been taken in where they hadn’t been decimated by war, the wind became stronger and colder every day, and most mornings, a light frost covered the entire world in sparkling silver-white.

“I’ve been on the ground for almost a year now,” she told Jonathan over a late dinner one evening. “Give or take a few weeks.”

When she was away from the Center, Jonathan stayed either in the military encampment or with his aunt and her family. Whenever she was back, however, they tried to stay at the Lancaster house. On nights Gus wasn’t also staying over, Jonathan would end up sleeping back-to-back with Abby on her bed. It was a comfort, even if it made her long for Marcus more than ever.

Now, at her comment about how long she’d been on the ground, the teenager said hesitantly, “Um...Congratulations? How does it feel?”

She tried to smile. “It’s been quite a year.” _I’ve spent the majority of it in the Province. Recently I’ve hardly spared a thought for Arkadia…_

Memories of Jake and Clarke assailed her daily, as they always would, and thoughts of others..._Jackson, Raven, Callie, Lincoln, all the rest of our people_...came often as well. But they were fleeting, disconnected from her current reality.

Jonathan saw her pensiveness and reached across the table for her hand. “This time next year, everything should be settled.”

_Everything. The war. __The Delacours. __Arkadia, maybe..._Abby squeezed the teen’s hand. “I look forward to that.”

* * *

A couple days later, on the heels of news about the successful capture of a large Delacour town just south of the Violet River, Abby was approached in the main encampment by a person she’d only met once before, and not officially. “Orion Fisher, right?”

“Yep, that’s me.” The handsome young man gave her a tired smile. “General Torrent’s here in Lancaster Center for a bit...to discuss future maneuvers and such...and I’m still in her unit, so...”

“We heard you joined the field medics.” Jo Sonnet, with a fairly new jagged scar visible along her hairline, marched up to them, a scowl on her face. “Kane said you didn’t want to do that. Said soldiering wasn’t your style.”

“Things change,” Abby said with a shrug.

“So you’re fine with offing people now?”

“_Jo_,” Orion scolded, but Abby answered the question anyway.

“If necessary, yes.”

“You stopped a horde of damn angry citizens from murdering the goddamn murderers.”

“Mob killings don’t fall under ‘necessary’ in my book.”

“Huh.” Jo wrinkled her nose. “It’s probably too late for this, but...”

“We’re sorry about Marcus,” Orion said. “He was a good man.”

“He still is, until proven otherwise,” Abby replied. “But thank you.”

After her meeting with Orion and Jo, Abby wasn’t surprised when she was told that General Torrent wanted to see her, too.

Showed to the correct tent in front of the Town Hall, she found the blonde general leaning very close over a seated woman with olive skin and long black hair braided and wound around her head. The black-haired woman spotted Abby first. “Hello,” she said, gently pushing Torrent aside so she could stand and shake Abby’s hand. “You must be Doctor Griffin.”

“That is correct,” Abby said, summoning a smile.

“This is Gillian Patel,” the general said. Although Patel was considerably taller than Abby, Torrent still loomed several inches above her. “She’s Cassandra Cobalt’s latest second-in-command after Amy, unless you count in Ky Darren, which I don’t. Gillian’s also my wife.”

“Ky’s not _that_ bad, Jemma. And I don’t think you need to claim me in front of this Outdweller.” Gillian rolled her eyes, smiling faintly. “It’s good to meet you, Doctor Griffin.”

“Likewise. You wanted to speak to me, General Torrent?”

“Yes. Have a seat.” After all three of them had settled on the available, rather rickety chairs, the general said, “Lately, Gillian’s been working with several key spies, and has been interrogating some of our prisoners in Cobalt Center.” She let out a grunt, muttering, “As much as I’d prefer otherwise…”

“Hush, you. It’s perfectly safe.” Patel gave her wife’s shoulder a tiny shove. “The point is, Doctor Griffin, through a lot of work...I believe I have some information about Marcus Kane.”

Abby stiffened. “Information?” she managed to say around the tightness in her throat. “What kind of _information_?”

“You’ve heard of Plato Delacour?”

_The letter writer. The Amphitheater director._ "Yes, I have.”

“He’s very close to his cousin, Mayor Alan Delacour.” Gillian paused, looking anxious. “He’s also known for...experimenting, in various ways. On people. He has a private laboratory, likes a variety of...specimens, as he calls them. And the war hasn’t stopped him in the least, from what I’ve heard.”

She paused again, but Abby understood. “You’re saying _he_ has Marcus. That he’s turned him into..a _specimen_.”

“We assume he also holds a grudge against your not-husband, for the Amphitheater,” Jemma put in. “He probably asked Alan to hand Kane over when he was captured.”

Remembering the kind of experimentation that went on in Mount Weather and trying not to imagine how much worse it could be in the Province, Abby swallowed bile and choked out, “Could...could Marcus still be alive?”

“It’s possible,” Gillian said. “Mayor Delacour would...If Marcus died, Mayor Delacour would likely make a big deal out of it.”

“There’s not much we can do at this moment, and this isn’t common knowledge,” Jemma said shortly. “But I thought you should know.”

Afterward, Abby couldn’t remember if she thanked them or not. _I hope I did. _She did remember rushing to tell Jonathan, who came close to tears at the news.

“Plato’s a monster, by all accounts. If Marcus is alive...” The boy shook his head. “He wouldn’t be in good shape.”

“But he could be alive, and he’s been through terrible things before.” _If I could just get to Delacour Center, to wherever Plato keeps his "specimens"..._

* * *

Rumors began drifting around the encampment during the next few days as General Torrent remained at Lancaster Center, and Abby ended up discussing said rumors over lunch with Jo Sonnet and Orion Fisher.

“The Delacours have been basing their attacks on the Aberdeen and Lancaster Quarters from the Amphitheater complex, as it’s less of a leap from there than from Delacour Center,” Orion said. “But we’ve known about that for a while. The complex is right outside the southwestern wall of the Amphitheater, and it’s where they used to hold prisoners before release, and keep all the supplies they’d send in...now it's a military base, mostly, or so our spies say...”

“Anyway,” Jo interrupted. “The generals _definitely_ want to blow it the hell up from the inside; it’s got too many basements and outlets and shit for the rebel aircraft missiles, I heard. Torrent wants to lead the attack, since things have quieted for now on the Cobalt front.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Abby said sleepily. She’d spent last night helping move several wounded soldiers from a captured village in Delacour Quarter to Lancaster Center. The level of activity on the aircraft had made it impossible to get more than a few minutes of sleep. Leaning her head back against the trunk of the tree they sat beneath, she added, “Blow it all up. It’s a good move.”

“_...if I can get to the tower that broadcasts it I can make it go boom.”_

_Oh, Raven...I failed you, too, didn’t I…_

Jo was talking. “...I’d love to see what Plato has in those creepy labs of his before they go up in flames...”

Suddenly, Abby was wide awake, heart pounding. “Plato Delacour’s private labs are in the Amphitheater complex?_ Not_ in Delacour Center?”

“Yeah, he does his sick experiments in the complex. Everyone knows that.”

_Everyone...but not Outdwellers. Not necessarily. _

Jo looked at her and snorted. “What’s it to you, Griffin?”

Orion leaned forward, lunch forgotten. “Abby, what is it?”

She told them.

“Holy shit,” Orion said when she finished, and Jo added something much more unrepeatable.

A plan began forming in Abby’s head. “If Torrent goes to the complex, her unit will be among those going with, correct?”

Orion caught on right away. “Yeah. Jo and I...maybe some others if we can convince them; we all liked Marcus...We’ll look for him while we’re there.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Jo said. “We’ll get him out for you if we can.”

“Thank you; that means a lot.” Abby smiled, a now-unfamiliar flicker of real hope stirring in her chest. “But I’ll be going, too.”


	19. Ready, Aim, Fire

When the orders were released, Abby was ready.

The plan was fairly simple. A phalanx of rebel aircraft would enter Delacour Quarter from due east and approach the Amphitheater complex. The foremost few aircraft, designed for scouting yet well-armed, would take out the antiaircraft defenses, the locations of which were now known thanks to the latest information from diligent spies. The other aircraft, each carrying limited numbers rebel soldiers in case they were shot down despite the earlier strike, would land, launching a ground assault on the complex with backup from above. Once inside, the rebels would plant bombs at strategic points throughout and escape before they detonated. The weapons and forces kept in the complex would, ideally, be obliterated before Delacour backup could arrive from their other military encampments.

The mission would be incredibly dangerous, and was labeled “volunteer-only.” Out of over two hundred rebels who volunteered, only sixty were selected to go by General Torrent herself. Among them were Orion Fisher and Jo Sonnet. The operation was to be kept streamlined as possible; a team of field medics was not to be included.

_That’s not stopping me. _Abby wasn’t planning on going for the purpose of providing medical aid, though of course she would if necessary. The rebel soldiers might not have time to free any prisoners even if they wanted to; the goal of the mission would come first. _Which is why I need to be there._

Except for Orion and Jo, no one knew her plan, and after some internal debate, she decided to leave a letter for Jonathan. _Just in case. _

Orion let her know the time and location of departure, and that morning, in the cold darkness before dawn, Abby slipped out of the Lancaster house and made her way to the field medic station in the hospital basement to stock her med kit. No one else was there as she adjusted the lightweight bag over her shoulder and checked her sidearm. _I’ll probably need both of these things. _Hesitating for a moment, she removed the white armband on her uniform. _So it’s easier to blend in. _The clock on the wall told her she had a half an hour to make it to the departure site. _Just enough__ time, __so __I should…_

“Abby.”

She froze. “Jonathan.”

Turning, she found the teenager dressed his own uniform and looking at her with a mix of accusation and resignation. The letter she’d left on the bedside table for him was crumpled in his hand. “Were you just going to sneak off without telling me?”

She met his gaze. _So much like his mother’s._ “I know it’s dangerous. But I have to do this.”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t.” Jonathan stepped towards her, expression determined. “I’m going with you, Abby. I won’t let you do this alone. Please, I...I don’t want to lose another parent.”

Her heart clenched painfully. “I know.” She reached out, pulling him into a one-armed embrace. Her free hand slipped into her med kit, navigating the familiar inner pockets and finding a syringe containing a tranquilizer. As Jonathan leaned into her, she whispered, “But I _won’t _lose another child.” She gripped the syringe.

She almost used it.

_No. He deserves more than that from me._

Letting go of the tranquilizer and pulling back, she looked up at him. “You need to stay here.”

“But...”

“Listen to me. You’re not anywhere near prepared as most of the soldiers on this mission. You’re not even an adult yet.” _I’ve seen what happens when teenagers have to do what the adults should’ve been doing. _“I know what I’m doing is risky...suicidal, even. If it means saving Marcus, I can accept that. But I can’t drag you into it with me. If something happened to you...I have friends on this mission. They’ll help me if they can.” She cupped his face with her hands. “I love you, and whatever happens to me today, I need to know that you’re safe.”

Slowly, he nodded, then hugged her again. “I love you, too, Abby. I need you to come back.”

“I’ll be fine. And who knows; they might not even let me onto the aircraft.”

“Oh, they will.” Jonathan laughed weakly. “Even if they catch you trying to sneak on...You’re too stubborn to let them say no.”

* * *

Sneaking onto one of the several identical aircraft out in the encampment landing field turned out to be easier than she expected. With her identity and her unmarked med bag disguised by the dim dawn lighting, she kept her head down, found a seat near the back, and wasn’t caught until they were in the air and halfway to their destination.

Then someone got a good look at her face and yelled for the commanding officer.

_And, naturally, I managed to pick the _ _one_ _ aircraft with General goddamn Torrent on it. _

Standing in the bare space down the center of the aircraft with several gaping soldiers on either side and Jemma Torrent down glaring at her, Abby wondered vaguely if she should be more intimidated than she felt. Then again..._Whatever trouble I’m in, it’ll be worth it if I can save Marcus._

Torrent knew exactly what she was up to without her even explaining. “Sneaking onto an aircraft...during a _volunteer-only_ mission...This isn’t a _rescue_...Didn’t think you’d be _this_ stupid...Next to_ no_ battle training or combat experience...Damn out-of-control_ not-married_ Outdwellers...” The general dragged her hands through her hair and snarled, “Griffin, what the_ hell_ are you doing?”

“Saving the man I love.”

“_Saving the_...You know, I should chain you up in here before we land.” Torrent let out a near-growl, glancing around the aircraft at the staring soldiers. A long silence followed, then the general ground out, “You get killed, it’s not my fault. You fall behind, I’m not risking the rest of my soldiers to wait for you.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Go back to your seat and stay out of everyone’s way.”

* * *

As it happened, “staying out of the way” was the easy part.

The hard part was not getting killed.

The antiaircraft guns guarding the Amphitheater complex, as well as key parts of the outer wall,went down without a hitch, but the moment the second wave of aircraft landed and the rebel soldiers spilled out, it was chaos.

Caught off-guard by the attack, the Delacour soldiers stationed at the complex scrambled to retaliate against the prepared formations. A hundred skirmishes broke out among the rows of long grey buildings, with people dodging behind every other wall and parked vehicle. Gunfire sounded in a nonstop roar. Shouts and screams tore through the smoke-filled air.

Abby followed Torrent and her soldiers out of the aircraft and into the fray, pulling out her sidearm but hanging back and hiding as much as possible. _I’m just a liability in this. _

Which was partly why she split off from the group within the first few minutes, running deeper into the maze of buildings by a different route than the rest. As she turned a corner, she caught sight of a Delacour soldier aiming for her and threw herself behind a stack of crates. Remembering her brief military training, she ducked out from behind cover just long enough to fire off a few shots, flinching as she moved back and heard return fire hitting the other side of the crates. Heart racing, she tried again.

This time, she heard her opponent let out a pained yell, dropping her gun. Abby jumped up and fled past the soldier’s prone form, rounding another corner and slamming into someone else...someone who immediately began trying to wrestle her weapon from her.

For a second, Abby was back on the floor of the meetinghouse with Circe on top of her, then a shout distracted her attacker and a bullet sent him reeling to the ground. Pushing herself back to her feet, Abby let out a relieved exclamation when she saw Orion running towards her, rifle in hand.

“Abby! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Abby checked her handgun and asked, “Did you get a rundown of the complex’s layout on the way, too?”

“Yeah, and the whole ‘no prisoners unless they’re super important people’ speech, too. The lab should be in the central building, under the offices...”

“So that way, then,” Abby said, gesturing towards the highest building in the area, clearly visible above the rest. “Jo?”

“She got held up.” Orion grinned crookedly. “I got separated from my designated team, so...We going or what?”

Most of the Delacour soldiers had been diverted to the outer rim of the complex, leaving the path to the central building more clear than not. Yet there were still some guards, and Abby found herself having to reload her handgun once they were inside and able to pause for breath.

_Were we here? _She glanced around the high-ceilinged grey halls, feeling her skin prickle. _Did they keep us here for any amount of time, unconscious, tied up, until they were ready to drop us off in the Amphitheater?_

“Abby? This place is going to get blown up pretty soon if things go to plan.”

“Yeah.” Abby drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Let’s keep moving.”

If the complex itself seemed like a maze, the central building was infinitely worse. By the time she and Orion had actually found the labs, just one floor below ground, they’d glimpsed a group of their own allies rushing to where they had to set their explosives.

_We’re running out of time…_

Plato Delacour’s cavernous laboratory itself...accessed through locked glass double doors that they shot to pieces...was empty and dimly lit. All it took was one look at the prominently displayed instruments, device-rigged tables and chairs, and gruesome diagrams on the walls for Abby’s stomach to turn. “Where do you think they...”

Orion pushed her out of harm’s way and lunged towards the guard who had just burst into the room, tackling him and knocking him unconscious on the nearest table. A few seconds later, he produced a pair of identical keycards from the other man’s uniform. “The holding cells can’t be far.”

They weren’t; they were less than a minute away and filled half of the floor, even if most were empty. _These can’t just be for Plato’s “specimens”…_She and Orion split up and rushed up and down the hallways, looking through the tiny cell windows and hearing cries and whispers grow louder as the prisoners realized someone other than their captors had arrived. _Maybe we should..._Her thought was cut off as she looked through a window into an occupied cell that remained silent.

She knew it was _him _from one glance. “Orion! He’s here!” Holstering her sidearm and fumbling with the keycard, she managed to open the door and found Marcus, dressed practically in rags, shaking on the floor in a corner, head down, eyes shut, mumbling frantic words she couldn’t decipher.

Yet the frightened, pleading tone was enough to nearly break her heart.

“Marcus!” On her knees, she reached out to him, feeling him flinched away from her touch. “Marcus, I’m not going to hurt you! Marcus! Marcus, look at me! __Marcus!__”

His head jerked up. His dark eyes behind his wild, tangled hair were filled with fear, confusion. “..._Abby?_” he whispered.

Her response slipped out unintentionally. “I found you.” Relief crashed over her, eliciting a choked laugh. “Hey. I’m here. It’s okay.” _I found him. _

He stared at her for a long moment, hand trembling as he lifted it to touch her cheek. “It’s...it’s you,” he said hoarsely. “You’re _here_...”

“Yes, it’s me.” _He seems so small, so broken, __so unlike himself_...Combing her fingers through his filthy hair and beard, she asked helplessly, “What did they do to you, Marcus?”

She heard voices, several sets of running footsteps, and then Orion arrived. “Abby, we need to get out of here! We’re almost out of time...Oh, my God, _Marcus_...Is he okay?”

At the sight of Orion, Marcus jerked backwards, panic taking over his features again. Abby lost her grip on him. _No, he’s not okay. _“He’ll be fine, Orion. You’ll need to help me get him up.” She turned back to Marcus, swallowing her own fear. “Marcus, I can tell you’re scared. But I need you to work with me, with us. Hold yourself together long enough for us to get you out, and it'll be okay.” _I’ll make it okay. _

He shook his head, shuddering. “I...I can’t...Just leave me...”

“No way in __hell __I’m doing that.” She put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “I came here to save you. Because __I love you__. We’re in this together, remember?” _I can’t lose you. Not after everything. _

He seemed to understand.

It took a minute, but she and Orion got Marcus to his feet. He didn’t seem physically damaged, aside from being very stiff and shaky. _The shakiness might have more to do with how afraid he is..._Out in the hall, Abby realized that Orion had gone and let all of the prisoners out of the other cells; the majority of them had already fled. Following their lead, she let Orion support Marcus and led the way out, through hallways and up staircases that were erupting with voices and gunfire.

_The rebels are trying to get out before the bombs go off...if they even got set...and the Delacour soldiers have likely caught on…_

A soldier wearing purple-trimmed grey and raising a rifle came charging towards them as they neared the building entrance. Almost without thinking, Abby pulled out her gun, aimed, and fired. The bullet went straight through the man’s head.

Behind her, Marcus started to scream.

* * *

The Marcus Abby knew might have been startled by her shooting someone in front of him. He might want to talk about it later. He would be concerned, maybe even disappointed, depending on the circumstances.

But this was not the Marcus she knew. Not this screaming, writhing, hysterical man who wouldn’t let her so much as touch him after seeing her end a life out of defensive reflex. 

“Abby, I don’t know how long I can hold him!” Orion yelled as he pinned Marcus to the floor. “We need to...”

“I know!” Reaching into her med kit, Abby yanked out the tranquilizer she’d almost used on Jonathan. “Hold him!” _I’m sorry. _She jabbed the needle into Marcus’s leg, praying that would work just as well as an injection to the neck.

It did; it just took a few seconds longer for Marcus’s eyes to roll up and his body to go limp. Collapsing on the floor, Orion and Abby looked at each other. “Can you carry him?” Abby panted.

“Not easily, but yeah.”

“Need some help?” Jo Sonnet seemed to appear out of nowhere, looking grim. “The bombs are all set. We’ve got to go _now_.”

Between the three of them, they made their way through the body-and-debris-strewn complex, taking turns helping to carry Marcus, dodging bullets and enemies, and firing off shots every so often. Abby began to panic. _What if we don’t make it...What if I’ve dragged Orion and Jo to their deaths..._

Nearing the spot where the general’s aircraft had landed, they heard a shout, which Jo responded to. Abby and Orion, half-dragging Marcus between them, looked up to find General Torrent herself barreling their direction. “You’re cutting it close, imbeciles!” she bellowed. Then she seized Marcus, threw him over her shoulder like he weighed nothing, and tore off towards the waiting aircraft with the other three close behind. Up above, several of the other rebel aircraft were already flying away.

“I thought you weren’t waiting,” Abby gasped to the general as they stumbled onto the aircraft.

“I wasn’t going to. And I wouldn’t have waited long. Pilot! Get us out of here!”

They’d been in the air all of thirty seconds before the explosions sounded, one after the other, on and on, breaking the complex and everything in it down to nothing. Some of the rebel soldiers on the aircraft, including Jo and Orion, looked out the windows and let out a loud cheer.

This mission had been a success.

Abby didn’t look, instead focusing on getting the man she’d risked so much to save strapped into a seat with Torrent’s help. As the general moved away to deal with something else, Abby sat down next to Marcus. _I’ll catch my breath, then check him over for injuries...The sedative will keep him out for a while. __I’ll figure out how to help him back at the hospital..._

When she did eventually look out of the window, all she glimpsed below was a strangely familiar landscape, somehow set apart from its surroundings. _The Amphitheater. Which we’re free of. We’re both free. _

Letting out a breathless laugh, she wrapped her arms around Marcus, pulling his head against her shoulder. _We’re going to make it._

She had hope now. 


	20. Rescued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this one was hard to write, and it's definitely not my favorite. Oh, well...just three more to go! ;)

The hospital room on the top floor was the same one Abby had stayed in after the Amphitheater. The lights had to be kept dim, the windows curtained. The walls were thick enough to keep out excess noise, and any medical-related machines ever in the room were muted. For several days, the lone occupant remained completely calm, hooked up to machines and either asleep or kept close to it by frequent doses of a mild sedative.

Between hospital shifts, during which she helped with the stream of wounded soldiers a couple floors below, Abby spent long hours in the shadowy, quiet room, occasionally with other people present, watching and working out how to best help Marcus.

Thanks to rebel soldiers who had grabbed one of Plato’s assistants among other "important people" during the tail end of the mission...unfortunately, Plato himself hadn’t been at the complex when it exploded...and thanks to Gillian Patel’s interrogation skills, they at least had a better understanding of what Marcus had been through.

“_It’s a kind of ‘fear training.’ A subject is injected with a drug, developed relatively recently, that heightens their fear response, often to dangerous levels. They are then exposed to selected stimuli. If used often enough, even after the drug wears off those stimuli will continue to provoke a strong response. Over a long period of time, it can stop being somewhat precise, and the fear can…‘bleed over’ into almost anything. Apparently, Plato has been seeing how much it takes to drive his subjects insane. Or how much it takes to stop their hearts.” _

“_It could be a punishment, too, or revenge. And now Marcus is afraid of everything.”_

One of the bravest people Abby had ever known had been reduced to a shaking, terrified mess in the span of about six weeks. _If I ever meet Plato Delacour…_

A bullet in the head would be too kind for him.

There was no set way to deal with someone in Marcus’s condition, so it was decided that the best course of action was to keep him mostly unconscious until his body had recovered a bit; despite having no physical injuries worse than wrists rubbed raw by restraints, he’d lost a lot of weight and his much of his strength. After that, he would be reintroduced bit by bit to triggering stimuli and life in general. The hope was that without the constant reintroduction of the fear drug, he would have a better chance at recovery.

“It’s the best plan we’ve got right now,” Abby told Jonathan when he came to visit. “I refused to try some kind of other drug therapy right away. We’ll adjust if we have to.”

“It’ll take a while, won’t it?”

“Yes, but...He did recognize me, even trusted me when we rescued him.” _That is, he seemed to trust me until I shot someone. _“When he wakes up, we’ll have to keep it somewhat dark and very quiet, until we get a better idea of what could trigger his panic.”

Jonathan nodded, then narrowed his eyes at her. “Have you been sleeping?”

“When I can. There’s an extra bed right over there, see?”

“Yeah, and Marcus sure never used it when you were in here. You’ve been getting like a half an hour in every twelve, right?”

She chuckled softly. “I’ll try to do better.”

“Of course you will.” Jonathan sighed exasperatedly. “I’ll go get us dinner, because you’ll forget to eat, too.”

The day came when Abby stopped giving Marcus sedatives and waited alone for him to wake up fully. Worst-case scenarios kept running through her mind as she sat on the edge of her chair. _Marcus panicking. Marcus screaming. Marcus flinching away from her, __losing control, __hurting himself…_

When his eyes opened, however, the fear in them shifted rapidly to confusion. “A...Abby? Where...?”

“Lancaster Center.” Cautiously, she reached out and laid her hand lightly on his. He shivered, but didn’t pull away. “We’re in the hospital. You’re safe.”

His gaze darted around, catching on the multicolored vitals displays on the screens by his bed. He turned away from them, clamping his eyes shut.

_I’ll figure out how to dim those, too. _

He spoke, his voice a weak rasp. “...You saved me.” Then, “You...you killed someone.”

She pressed her lips together, willing herself not to cry. “I did what I had to.”

Marcus’s eyes opened again, unfocused. “I...I was...I am...I’m sorry...I didn’t want anyone to hurt you, but I...felt like...coward...” He coughed. “...Abby, _I’m scared_.”

“I know.” Abby cradled his hand in both of hers, keeping her voice gentle. “I’m _here_, Marcus. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Tell me you believe that.”

He nodded and closed his eyes again. She let him drift off to sleep as a few tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

* * *

Attempting to get Marcus to list all the things he was now terrified of proved difficult, not least because the mere thought of many of them sent him into a panic attack. Bit by bit, however, it became clear that Marcus had been “trained” to react badly to a myriad of things, from loud voices to insects to goddamn _trees_.

_He used to love the woods _ _so much_ _..._

He fluctuated between being silently, shakily collapsed in on himself, being visibly panicked, and being able and willing to speak but having little to no focus. The only good news was that he was actually eating well more often than not and getting plenty of rest.

_But even in his sleep he looks afraid…_

It was two anxious days before Abby dared say, “Jonathan wants to see you. Are you up to a visit later?”

Considering that the sight of the door opening to quickly was enough to send this version of Marcus into a fit, she was surprised when he seemed to relax at her question. “Jonathan...I want to see him. Is he...okay?”

“He was in to see you a few times, while you were still asleep. He’s in the rebel army now, though he’s not been posted anywhere other then Lancaster Center.” Abby hesitated, her mouth going dry. _He needs to know._ “Marcus...his mother, Leslie...She’s dead.”

Marcus tensed. “...When? _How?_”

“About five weeks ago. Alan Delacour...” She winced as Marcus shuddered violently at the mention of the hated man’s name. “He...he sent assassins. I did what I could, but...it wasn’t enough.”

She was learning to hate the distant, dazed look Marcus was slipping into yet again. “...It never stops...the death...it just goes on...”

Thankfully, he pulled himself together somewhat for Jonathan’s visit, even managing a faint smile once his usual panic at the sight of a door opening faded. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Jonathan sat down next to the bed, not making any sudden moves. “It’s been a while. I...I missed you. Maybe not as much as Abby did, though.”

Heart seeming to expand, Abby watched as Marcus’s lips twitched into another barely-there smile. “I missed you, too, Jonathan.” Then the smile vanished. “I’m...sorry. About...your mother.”

Jonathan glanced down, threading his fingers together. Even in the still-dim lighting, Abby could tell they were clenched. “Yeah. I, um...Thank you.”

Avoiding any serious trigger subjects Abby had mentioned to him, the teenager changed the subject to how Sara was doing and how he and Gus Skinner were a couple now. Marcus seemed to listen somewhat attentively, that is until he fell asleep. Once outside in the hallway, Jonathan said, “I didn’t cause him any trouble?”

“No, sweetheart. You’d know if you had.” _If he was afraid, he was fighting it. _That’s the best he’s reacted to anyone besides me,” Abby admitted. “It’ll take time, Jonathan. But he’ll make it.” _He has to. _

“I know.” The boy hugged her. “I should get going. I’m supposed to be on patrol tonight.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

* * *

Three weeks passed, and the war went on. High winds and torrential downpours between nightly freezes frequently slowed the progress of any assaults, yet the rebels kept gaining ground. The Delacour forces, destabilized by constant defeats and the destruction of one of their central bases, drew back from every border, gradually retreating to Delacour Center. Whenever the rebels took over a new section of the Quarter, their reception was far from chilly, as most civilian loyalists retreated with the soldiers.

“Temporarily relieved” of her military status as a field medic…“Because I’ve got to punish you for your idiocy _somehow_,” Jemma Torrent had said...Abby stuck to helping out every day in the hospital. _I would’ve quit __the army__, anyway. _Currently, the majority of her time had to be devoted to Marcus.

She spent hours upon hours with him, trying to reintroduce him to what should have been non-threatening stimuli like brighter lights, talking him through the panic attacks that so often struck without warning, or just sitting with him, speaking mostly about small, normal, everyday matters. Sometimes she’d use those conversations as another sort of test, slipping in mentions of things he’d been conditioned to fear in order to gauge his reaction.

At first, it could range from mere shaking and loss of focus to complete terror. But as time went on, Marcus began to improve. He could move around his room without any help, though he usually chose not to. His more dramatic fear responses, such as the panic attacks, grew less frequent, and she could tell he was trying to fight the instinctual side of him that was always so afraid. He did all right with a few visitors, including Orion, Jo, and General Torrent herself between her long stints on the battlefields of Delacour Quarter.

There were still horrible moments, like when Marcus woke up from a dream screaming and thrashing so violently that he had to be sedated, when he admitted that many of his good memories were “tinted dark” and started sobbing, unable stop for nearly an hour, and when he turned to Abby one day and interrupted her rambling on dinner options with, “I shouldn’t be alive.”

“..._What?_”

“I should be dead.” He spoke in that lost way she’d grown used to hearing, except with more coherence than usual. “I should’ve died so many times, yet I survived and fought on...And now, I’m broken, useless...I’ve caused so much trouble, so much pain...I shouldn’t be alive like this...It’s all wrong...I’m so _helpless_...I should just...end this, set you free...”

“Marcus, _look at me_.” When he complied, obviously startled and nervous at her harsh tone, Abby leaned forward, locking gazes with him. “Don’t you _dare_ talk like that. _Ever_. Don’t even think...Marcus, you’re hurt, damaged. But you’re _healing_. You’ve gone through so much and come out alive; you’re strong. You’ll make it through this. It’s going to be hard...God, I know how hard it already is. But don’t you dare think about ‘ending this.’ Don’t you_ dare _think about leaving me alone. I told you once...I can’t do that again. I _won’t_.”

She paused, took a breath. _He’s not panicking, thank goodness. _“Marcus,” she said in a gentler tone, taking his hand, “If you can’t have hope because you think you’re not strong enough...You’re already fighting against what happened to you...which was _not your fault_. You’ve always tried to do your best, to do what’s right. You deserve to survive. You’re going to make it, and I’m going to be by your side every step of the way.”

He stared at her, then looked down at her hand resting atop his. “We’re in this together,” he said quietly, curling his fingers around hers.

She smiled, holding on tightly. “We’re in this together.”

* * *

Ice lined the roads and a cutting early winter wind whistled through Lancaster Center on the day Abby took Marcus back to the Lancaster house. They went by car, late in the evening as to avoid too much town-related noise. Marcus clutched Abby’s hand during the drive, as well as before and after.

Weeks after being rescued, he still flinched at shadows and loud noises. He still moved cautiously, reluctant to speak more than a few words at a time and preferring to avoid all people he wasn’t close to. Occasionally, something would set off a panic attack, but he was getting better and better at recovering from them, and at recognizing genuine threats from things that shouldn’t scare him at all. He hadn’t spoken again about _ending_ anything.

Considering how he’d been when she’d first found him, Abby thought it was all a damn miracle.

Jonathan met them at the door of the Lancaster residence, just like he had all those months ago when Abby had been released from the hospital, only this time they didn’t need to be shown around.

_We know this house so well now. _

That night, getting into bed, she wrapped her arms around Marcus as he rested his head on her chest. “I never thought I’d be here again,” he said. “Did you?”

Running her hand through his hair, she said, “I had hope. Hope that you were alive. Hope that I could save you.” _And it was just enough. _She closed her eyes. “I love you.”

He let out a shuddering sigh. “I love you, too.”

* * *

More time went by, during which Marcus spent a lot of time secluded in the bedroom, reading anything relatively "harmless" or doing some sort of meditation Lacey had suggested he try. Abby again split her days between watching him and working at the hospital, stressed by the new distance.

“Maybe I should just stay here."

“They need you at the hospital. Sara’s always around these days. She knows where to find you if I panic and can’t calm myself.”

She did find herself rushing back to the Lancaster house a couple times after a frantic phone call, but nothing catastrophic happened, so she continued on as before.

“You’re still not sleeping enough,” Jonathan said when she ran into him in the front hallway early one morning. “Aunt Lacey says so, too.”

“I’m fine; I’ve functioned on less before.” Abby glanced at the mirror by the coat rack, sighed, and yanked out her hair tie in order to redo her ponytail. _At least the bangs aren’t so messy anymore. _“What’s that?” she asked_, _realizing she’d missed whatever Jonathan had responded with. _Maybe I do need more sleep..._

“I said...never mind. We’ve both been summoned attend some meeting at the Town Hall.”

“_Both_ of us? You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I didn’t get any details. They sent a car...”

“So my hospital shift will have to wait. Let me tell Marcus where I’m going.”

Upstairs, she found the man still in bed, propped up on the pillows with a book in hand. He jumped when she entered..._I should've opened the door more slowly_...and took a few tense seconds to relax. “Hey. Back already?”

“I’ve got to go to the Town Hall; something about a meeting. Sara’s downstairs, so if you need anything...”

“I know.” He gave her a smile almost identical to his old one. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

Thanking whatever higher powers that existed for the resilience of Marcus Kane, Abby went out to join Jonathan in the waiting car.

The meeting was held in the auxiliary mayor’s office, which felt very crowded with Cyrus Leavey, Jemma Torrent, Gillian Patel, Barry Brant, Amy Cobalt, Mayor Harold Aberdeen, and three other high-ranking rebel officers in it. Abby and Jonathan arrived last to a chorus of greetings and a muttered, “Not sure why the Outdweller is here,” from General Torrent.

“Because Cyrus thought Jonathan should be here, and that an adult should accompany him, that’s why,” Gillian said with an apologetic look at the newest arrivals. “Shall we begin, now that we have the apparently required military leaders, mayor, almost mayor plus escort, and representative mayor.”

“Please do; I have no idea what’s going on,” Abby said. _Although, that’s not entirely true. I do have a guess…_

Amy Cobalt giggled, and Cyrus spoke over her. “This is our final meeting before we make the public announcement. We’re about to begin preparations for the final assault on Delacour Center. We should be ready to go ahead in five days, perhaps just four.”

_So the war’s almost over, then. _

The meeting was mostly an overview of the plan of attack, which Abby didn’t give her full attention to; she wasn’t really needed, anyway. Her mind was otherwise occupied.

_If the war ends, Marcus and I can go back to Arkadia...Leslie was the one who promised to help us get back, but surely someone else...What if Marcus is still too fragile? What if…_

After the meeting, she ended up chatting with Gillian and Amy for a couple minutes while she waited for Jonathan, who had hung back to speak with General Leavey. Back in the car, on the way home, Abby said, “Please don’t tell me you did what I think you did.”

Jonathan didn't hesitate. “I asked General Leavey to let me be part of the attack on Delacour Center. He said yes; he’s decided to take soldiers under eighteen for this if they volunteer. He’s lost so many older ones already...”

“_Damn_ it, Jonathan!” Abby ran her hand over her hair, resisting the vague urge to tear some of it out. “You can’t do this.”

“I have to.” He looked right at her, blue eyes bright. “Like you _had _to save Marcus. I _have_ to be there. This isn’t like the mission to the Amphitheater complex. It’s...”

“Jonathan...No. You just...You’re only...”

“What? Only a child?” He smiled crookedly. “I’ll be eighteen in a couple months. And I don’t think I’ve been a child for a long time. Not...not since the Amphitheater.”

_Just like Clarke stopped being a child after she reached the ground. _Abby looked down, biting back a sob. “If something happens to you...”

“Then it happens.” Jonathan touched her arm. “Abby, I’m...This is my choice.”

She looked at him again, seeing again all the kids...from the Ark, the clans, the Province...who’d had to grow up too quickly. _I couldn’t shield Clarke forever, and I can’t shield him._ “You’re right. It is.”

“I still want to protect him,” she told Marcus when she returned home. “I know he wants to help, but still want to have him close, not halfway across the country in a war zone...”

“Maybe you should go to Delacour Center, too.” A long pause, during which Abby wondered if she’d heard right. Then, gaze steadier than it had been in a long time, Marcus said, “If I weren’t...like _this_...I would.”

"Marcus."

"Abby." 

The conversation didn’t end there.

* * *

After dinner that evening, she managed to get a call through to General Torrent. “What do I have to do to get my position as a field medic back?”

Pause. “_Goddamn Outdwellers._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! :)


	21. No Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this up last night, but the writing went slow and then my computer started acting up...Anyway, here it is!

“_...I can’t...I just can’t..._” The words came out in muddled gasps.

“Yes, you can.” Ignoring the looks she kept getting from the other people in the communications center, Abby gripped the radio and listened intently to the loud, ragged breathing coming from it. _A little better, maybe?_ “Marcus? Just keep breathing. Three seconds in, three seconds out, remember? I’m right here with you.” _Even if I’m actually something like a hundred miles away. _

A couple minutes, passed, and Marcus’s breaths gradually evened out. “_Guess I’m lucky you were near the radio,_” he murmured, voice shaky.

This was the second time in the past week that their daily radio conversations had begun earlier than scheduled due to a panic attack on Marcus’s end. “What triggered this one? Sara didn’t have time to explain...”

“_I think a vehicle backfired at the nearest neighbor’s._” He chuckled and said deprecatingly, “_It’s a good thing I’m not with you._”

Abby had to agree with that. The outer limits of Delacour Center, filled mostly with lower-class homes and warehouses, were outside of the well-fortified wall and had fallen to the rebels within hours. Soldiers who had surrendered were imprisoned, civilians removed to other towns and villages for their own safety.

Since then, things had slowed to a crawl as a way was sought to get past the wall without losing an absurd number of soldiers and without incurring more civilian casualties than necessary. Antiaircraft defenses and lack of current inside information on both sides made air assaults practically impossible. Yet at least once a day, someone from one side would spot and start shooting at someone from the other side, sparking several minutes of rather useless...and loud...gunfire.

Everyone...leaders, soldiers, even the medics...were on edge, waiting for _something_ to happen, for _this_ to end.

_At this point, we could probably just starve the Delacours and their subjects into submission. _However, no one was particularly eager to see how long that would take. Winter was upon them, and it was a bitterly cold one.

Abby didn’t say any of this to Marcus. “Other than backfiring vehicles, how was your day?”

“_It’s been all right. I slept in, finished another book._” A sigh. “_I was thinking about Leslie._”

“What about her, specifically?”

“_She did so much for us. And she...she was the one who promised...” _

“Who promised to help us get back to Arkadia? Marcus, she wasn’t the only rebel leader present, right? One of the others will remember, and will help us. I’m sure of it.”

“_I suppose you’re right. Are you okay? How’s Jonathan?_”

“I’m fine, haven’t had much to do lately. Jonathan’s...all right.” _I think._ “He’s been on a lot of patrols. Hasn’t been injured yet.”

The teenager had been one of the ground troops that swept the outer limits on the first day of the “final push.” When the medical teams had arrived, he’d found Abby and said, “Is it always easier to kill people if you can’t see their faces clearly?”

A year ago, Abby wouldn’t have known how to answer at all. She had still felt inadequate when she told him, “I think it depends, Jonathan.” _Even if it’s necessary, you often feel so horrible, _she’d thought, remembering Circe. Then, recalling the guard at the Amphitheater complex, _And sometimes, you don’t feel anything at all. _

“_That’s good,_” Marcus said, referring to Jonathan’s lack of injuries. “..._If I wasn’t so...I wish I were with you._”

“Me, too; but you’re better off where you are right now.”

They spoke a while longer, and at the end of the conversation, Marcus said, “_Stay safe, Abby_.”

“I will.”

Leaving the warehouse that served as the rebel communications and operations center, she again felt grateful for the thick military-style jackets that had been distributed to everyone who wore a uniform. Twilight had fallen, and the air smelled of cooking food. She found Jonathan, deep in conversation with Orion, Jo, Gus, and a brunette Cobalt soldier she thought was named Evelyn Charades, in one of the empty civilian homes being used as temporary barracks. They welcomed her into their circle and they shared a dinner of some kind of glue-like stew that Jo had made; Abby chose not to question what was in it. _It’ actually tastes okay and no one’s vomiting, so it must be fine. _

Afterward, while she was helping with cleaning up and refereeing another argument between Jo and Orion, she noticed Jonathan, Gus, and Evelyn off in a corner, talking in low tones. When she asked Jonathan about it later, he said it had to do with the latest rumors of the rebel leaders’ battle plans. It sounded almost reasonable.

But Abby had lived quite a lot in her forty-some years and she’d spent more than enough time with Jonathan to recognize when he was lying.

_And that’s not like him at all. _

She meant to come up with a way to successfully challenge him on that the next day, but generals Torrent and Leavey began announcing strategies left and right, everyone scrambled to prepare for the following day’s attack on Delacour Center, and there was no time to worry about Jonathan and his friends’ plotting.

All Abby could do was tell the boy to be careful, and promise Marcus that she’d do the same.

* * *

It had seemed that the Delacours would have been content to remain locked into their seemingly massive city until their people all starved and the walls crumbled. To someone like Alan Delacour, when backed into a corner by those supposedly inferior, surrender was the worst option.

The rebels didn’t give it to him.

Reluctantly deciding that the likely number of casualties would be worth bringing a swift end to the war, the generals ordered the use of the rebels’ small stock of short-range missiles to hit the wall around the east and west gates, bringing it down so the ground troops could enter. Aircraft would provide some cover, then more backup once the antiaircraft defenses were disabled by the soldiers on the ground. The main idea was to flood the city with rebel forces and threaten more destructive measures, such as a blanket bombing, unless the leaders surrendered.

Abby tried not to think about the excessive bargaining of innocent lives that would be involved in this plan and instead threw herself into field medic prep.

Two sections of the wall came down, as planned. The soldiers poured in through the openings, several units concentrated on destroying weapon-based defenses, as planned. The medical teams followed the gradual flow of the battle, wading through the carnage and doing all they could, as planned.

Then, for Abby, everything went sideways.

It started with some kind of landmine taking down three rebels and two Delacour soldiers at the same time. It was at the rear of the main fighting, so the medics were able to respond immediately. Abby found herself by one the Delacour men, unable to do anything but watch as he gasped his final breaths, bleeding out from his lacerated legs and abdomen.

_We save those who can be saved. _

Without warning, Gus Skinner was beside her, pulling her to her feet. “Abby!” he shouted over the sounds of explosions and shouts and never-ending gunfire. “We need your help!”

Fear sped through her like fire. “Jonathan?”

“No, it’s Jo Sonnet...” He grabbed her arm and led her off to the aside, away from the main street the soldiers concentrating on and into the strange landscape of Delacour Center.

Every street was paved in this city, and most of the buildings inside the wall rose at least four stories, many shiny with a hundred windows that kept shattering as bullets flew wild. There were terrified screams in the buildings, and people dressed in bright colors in the streets trying to flee. Even away from the worst of the fighting, the air smelled like fear and blood.

Gus led Abby into an alley quite a way from the battle zone, then down into a basement, the tiny outdoor entrance of which she would have missed by herself. In a dimly-lit room filled with dusty crates and damp, they found Jonathan and Evelyn Charades hovering over Jo, who was propped against the wall and wheezing. Jonathan was pressing a wad of blood cloth to her left shoulder. “Abby! Gus, you didn’t have to...”

Abby interrupted him, hurrying to Jo’s side. “Bullet?”

“Yeah, and I think cracked ribs or something...the Delacour soldier got in some blows...”

It didn’t take long to determine that Jo probably did have a couple broken ribs and that her bullet wound was too high to be immediately dangerous. Abby patched her up as best as she could, saying, “We need to get you back to the medical center. You’ll need surgery to remove that bullet, and someone should x-ray those ribs...” She sat back, taking a breath. “Okay. What the _hell_ is going on?”

Under her gaze, Jonathan looked guilty and Gus even more so. Evelyn Charades just shrugged and said, “We’re breaking into the Mayor’s Mansion. I know a secret shortcut,” she gestured to what looked like a large open drain at the back of the room, “a passageway that ends up going through the vaults. It’s no good for moving big groups around, but for a few people...”

“Stop.” Abby forced herself not to raise her voice as she continued, “First, aren’t you from Cobalt Quarter? How do you know about this ‘shortcut’? Secondly, and more importantly...How exactly is breaking into the Mayor’s Mansion _a good idea_?”

Evelyn’s expression twisted. “Some elites know a lot of secrets, and some have..sick tastes. And the resources to satisfy them without causing _local problems_. Let’s just say I was really young and had a good memory. And before you ask, I did tell the rebel leadership about this plan. They decided against it because...Well, they didn’t want to risk a skilled team on something like that, in case I was wrong.”

Abby contemplated the entire explanation for a moment. _She can’t be older than twenty now, so “really young” probably means...Shit. But I should expect things like that from the Delacours and their elites by now. _“Okay, that answers my first question. As for _why_...”

“We’re going to take out Alan Delacour,” Jonathan said. “He’s the problem. He’s never going to surrender, even if most of his people want to.”

“He’ll make it so most of the city’s dead when it ends,” Gus said.

“So you’re assassins now?” Abby stood, letting out an incredulous laugh. “This is_ incredibly_ stupid, you’re going to get in trouble, and…”

“_I’ll get you a spot when us rebel leaders draw straws for who gets to put a bullet in Alan Delacour’s brain.”_

_I thought I’d look forward to that_ if _Marcus died. _The truth was, a large part of her, the shadowy, vicious part, had already wanted that revenge, on the Delacour mayor, on Plato, on everyone who had ever harmed her or Marcus or anyone they cared about, in the Province and elsewhere. _I still want it._

She finally finished her sentence. “...and I don’t blame you at all. That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.” She turned to Jo, the oldest and theoretically most responsible person in the room besides herself. “How long were you in on this?”

“I wasn’t until I saw them sneaking away from their units, on the main road. I tried to get Orion’s attention, but...” Jo grimaced, dragging herself up by her uninjured arm. “He’s really focused on finding his fiancee. So I chased these idiots and ran into a goddamn soldier who couldn’t shoot worth shit...”

“Abby, we have a plan,” Jonathan said. “Though we...”

Above them, somewhere outside, a number of screams rose to a frantic pitch, cut off by the deafening sound of shattering glass, shrieking metal, and an explosion. Nearest to the entryway, Gus took one look up the stairs and yelled, “Aircraft down! Into the hole!”

Argument forgotten, they all rushed for the drain, dust and debris tumbling down the stairway as they scrambled into the dark hole, Jo bellowing curses the whole way. The drop was only a few feet; Gus jumped down last, dragging the lid of the drain shut.

For a minute, they all crowded together in the cold darkness, gasping for breath. Evelyn pulled out a flashlight, clicking it on, the moving beam of light revealing the narrow passageway stretching out before them. “I guess we have to go forward. I think an aircraft blocked the alley.”

“Jo shouldn’t move,” Abby said. _Actually, she_ needs _to get to the med center...__And that’s only one of our worries._

“Get me somewhere a little less unpleasant and I’ll stay put,” the shorter woman hissed. “But I’m not staying in this dark corner alone; I’ll go bonkers.”

Left with no choice, they started off down the dank passage, Evelyn leading, the boys having to stoop a little to avoid bumping their heads. The walls were so close that no one could support Jo; she managed nonetheless, gritting her teeth and cursing under her breath. Every so often they would reach a turn, and as the light hit the floor beyond it, small creatures would skitter off into the darkness.

_This is still insane. _Feeling the vibrations of distant explosions and the weight of the city closing in around her, Abby thought, _This is a suicide mission. __Why the hell am I letting this go on? __What the hell were they thinking?_

She said as much at one point, and Jonathan answered, “There were supposed to be a few more of us.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

After what felt like hours they reached locked door, the handle of which Evelyn shot off. It opened to reveal a raised walkway that ran along the edge of an enormous room. Abby looked at the floor far below, the endless shelves and crates, and the way the room seemed to extend far beyond the reach of Evelyn’s flashlight. “These are the vaults, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, part of them,” Evelyn said. “There’s no way down to them from here, unfortunately.”

They kept on, eventually reaching a wider passageway out of the vault space. Pipes and wires ran over the ceiling and walls, and narrow light strips lit the way.

Slumping down in an alcove, Jo allowed Abby to check her shoulder. “It’s not so bad,” she wheezed. “Not even bleeding much, right?”

“No, but that bullet needs to come out before it causes any complications.”

“But that doesn’t have to be right this second.” Jo reached up and grabbed her rifle from Jonathan, who had retrieved it for her during their escape into the drain. “I’m slowing you fools down. I’ll wait for you to send someone back for me.”

“We’ll try to make it fast,” Gus said.

Jonathan, looking upset, spoke up. “Abby, maybe you should stay with her.”

“No way; you need all the help you fools can get,” Jo said, and Abby, despite her instinct to stay with her patient, voiced her agreement.

“Neither of you were supposed to be here!” Jonathan groaned and dragged his hands through his hair. “Jo’s already hurt...Abby, if you...”

“It’s not your job to protect me, Jonathan, even if that’s how we met,” Abby told him. “There’s nothing more I can do for Jo here, and I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

“Great, now that’s settled, can we go?” Evelyn hefted her rifle, grey eyes gleaming. “If we want to kill the bastard, we don’t have all day.”

* * *

They exited the passageway the same way they’d originally entered it: through a drain in a basement. Once up the nearest flight of stairs...oddly devoid of guards except the one speedily Gus knocked out...they found themselves in the Mayor’s Mansion proper.

“_Mansion” is definitely the correct term._

Whereas the Lancaster house was large yet cozy, this was a palace of the sort seen in old films about the rich and famous. Thick carpets and framed artwork lined every wide hallway. Luxurious furniture could be glimpsed through every doorway. Everything was clean and so much was blinding shades of white and gold and purple.

Glimpsing herself and her three companions in a giant gilded mirror, Abby noted that they all looked dirty, dark, and utterly out of place.

Evelyn seemed to know the layout of the mansion as well..._I don’t even want to know how..._and led the way towards Alan Delacour’s living suite, which included his private office. “He’s probably hiding out in there; that’s where his last few broadcasts were filmed, I believe.”

At first, despite their weapons being out, they had no cause to use them. Much of the mansion seemed empty, devoid of anyone. _All hidden, locked in their rooms...Maybe they tried to escape via aircraft and got shot down...That would save us some trouble…_

It all went to shit when a squad of guards caught up with them, filling the end of the hallway.

“Next right, straight to the end!” Evelyn yelled, raising her rifle.

Gus moved into place beside Evelyn, shouting, “Jonathan, Abby, _go_!”

_I shouldn’t have gone along with this._

Yet she fled with Jonathan around the corner, leaving behind the gunshots and shouts. The double doors at the end of the hall were blocked by four guards. For a minute, there was nothing but wild, too-close combat that turned into cries of pain and one desperate hand-to-hand match between a guard and Jonathan.

“Abby, go! I’ve got him! I'll be right there!” Jonathan called, and knowing that she couldn’t shoot one without hitting the other, she slammed through the doors, which fell shut behind her, leaving her reeling in a space where outside noises were strangely muffled.

This room was golden; almost everything either mimicked the shade of or was actually lined with gold. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, almost directly above the solid wooden chair on a dais that dominated the entire space.

_This isn’t an office. It’s a throne room. _

It was also empty, the other doorways leading out of it shut.

Abby was about to turn around and go help Jonathan when something caught her eye, causing her to move closer. Among the paintings on the walls, there was some kind of tall display case, filled with a variety of objects hung on little hooks. _Knives. Bracelets. Scraps of stained cloth. A bow and a single arrow. A makeshift spear. And, down in a corner…_

Abby’s stomach lurched as she recognized the slender chain and the two silver rings. _Oh, God. _

“Like my collection?”

She spun around to find Alan Delacour, half-sitting on a low table at the opposite wall, watching her. He was smirking. “The mayor who instated the Amphitheater started it. We switch out some of the memorabilia at times.”

_Shit. How did he even get in here without me hearing him? _“Those are mine,” she said aloud, gesturing to the rings.

“Yes, I suppose they are.” The mayor stood up, moving almost lazily across the shiny tiled floor. He didn’t react to the thuds, bangs, and raised voices outside. “I had them brought out of Amphitheater-related storage, when I realized that you and your stubborn mate were more than the usual Outdwellers.” He chuckled. “You’re certainly more alert than he was when I briefly had him here...”

_He had Marcus here. And possibly those rebel officers he had killed and displayed..._Seeing red, Abby raised her handgun and pulled the trigger.

_Click. _

Mayor Delacour laughed again. “When’s the last time you checked your sidearm, _doctor_?”

_I don’t remember. __I don’t even have an extra clip on me. _“It wasn’t the first thing on my mind.” Realizing that she was about half the man’s size and as good as unarmed, Abby began to inch towards the double doors.

He never let her get there.

Lunging and grabbing her like she weighed as much as a feather, he tore the gun from her grasp and shoved her towards the dais. She barely managed to land in a way that wouldn’t break her back, and then he had her pinned against the base of his throne-like chair, looming over her. “As I told the other one,” he snarled, face contorted with hate, “_you’re a problem._”

_So this is how I die. _For a moment, she remembered her promise to Marcus to “stay safe”, and imagined what it would be like for him if she, and maybe Jonathan, died here today_. He’ll be so alone…_

Then she looked into Alan Delacour’s eyes, filled with madness, and suddenly her familiar defiance was stronger than her fear. “I’ve been told as much,” she managed to say, “and I’m proud of it.”

He growled and clamped his hands around her throat, effectively closing her airways. Using every tactic she could remember, she failed to push catch him by surprise or push him off; he just held tighter. Her vision blurred. Her writhing turned to twitching as black spots danced in front of her eyes, blotting out her assailants face. Animalistic panic took over. _I can’t...__can’t breathe…_

A shot rang out, and the mayor dropped her like a rag doll, whirling around with a roar of pain. Choking, gasping, Abby tried to refocus her gaze.

She did, just in time to see Jonathan Lancaster aim his sidearm and unhesitatingly fire three more times.

These bullets did more than graze their target. Abby scrambled backwards, still struggling to breathe, as Alan Delacour collapsed on the steps beneath his throne, dead within seconds.

“Abby!” Jonathan rushed to her side. “Are you...”

“I...” She coughed. “...fine, just...Help me up...”

He’d only just helped her to her feet when Evelyn and Gus charged in, bloodstained but triumphant, dragging a sharp-faced man Abby recognized vaguely as one of the top Delacour generals. All three froze in their tracks when they saw the dead mayor.

A long moment of silence passed, and no one spoke. Abby saw the general’s eyes land on her, and she rasped out, “You should tell your men to surrender now. It’s over.”

To her amazement, the man nodded, and with what sounded like a touch of relief in his voice, he said, “The Outdweller’s right. It’s over.”


	22. Hoping

It was almost twenty hours later when Abby collapsed.

In the immediate aftermath of Alan Delacour’s death, his forces...soldiers and leaders alike...surrendered unconditionally. Within minutes, a small number of rebel soldiers had arrived to secure the mansion, removing the guards and placing any of the mayor’s family, friends, and servants on house arrest until further notice.

Plato Delacour had tried to escape through a back entrance and had been caught by a group of lower-class citizens who had lost family members convicted of minor crimes to his “experiments.” There was very little left when the rebels found him; his attackers were released without charge.

Abby’s first move had been to go get Jo; due to an unexpected turn in the soldier’s condition, she’d ended up performing emergency surgery on a parlor table, aided by Jonathan and the only sane, non-hysterical Delacour elite in the mansion: the bizarrely tough fourteen-year-old niece of the mayor, Estella. The girl hadn’t seemed remotely angry that her uncle had just died or that the boy helping her and Abby had killed him; like a lot of people in the Quarter, she just seemed relieved that the war was over.

After Jo had been stabilized and safely shipped to a better temporary facility for recovery, Abby had given Jonathan a wordless hug and waded into the mess that the other field medics were already dealing with. Before she left the mansion, however, she’d returned to the mayor’s private office, and, ignoring the man’s tablecloth-covered corpse on the floor, had broken into the glass display case and retrieved her rings.

The city was a mess of debris and dust and bodies, though civilian casualties had been less than expected. Abby had lost track of the number of patients she helped move and treat. Between examining, disinfecting, stitching, bandaging, and repeating it all over and over again, she had also lost track of time.

Falling back into her role as a doctor, closed off from any overwhelming emotion, she turned down offers of breaks and kept pushing on, until, sometime around dawn the day after the final attack, the walls of the Delacour hospital storage room she was retrieving bandages from began to spin.

She managed to reach the nearest wall, sliding down and sitting with her head between her knees until someone came looking for her. Then it seemed like mere seconds before everything went black.

* * *

Waking up in an unfamiliar, spartan bedroom, Abby found Jonathan sitting on the edge of the bed someone had placed her on. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” She coughed and sat up stiffly, blinking blearily. “How long was I...”

“A couple hours. You should sleep some more.”

Noting the dark circles under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders, she said hoarsely, “You should, too. Where are we, by the way?”

He glanced around. “We’re in the servant’s quarters of some elite’s house across from the hospital. The owners are under house arrest a few floors up.”

“A lot of people seem to be.” Abby closed her eyes, staving off another bout of dizziness. “I think I’ll go back to sleep now.” _Just a couple more hours…_

“Okay.”

“You don’t have to leave. Unless you have something to do?”

Instead of answering, he curled up next to her as she laid back down, saying quietly, “You were right.”

“About?”

“Getting into trouble. Me, Gus, Evelyn...General Torrent took our weapons away and told us we’re on cleanup duty only until she can send us back to our homes.”

“Well, good. Then I don’t have to worry about you and angry Delacour prisoners.”

“She also said something about an obstinate imbeciles.”

“She probably meant all of us.”

“Yeah.” Pause. “I called Marcus.”

Her eyes flew open momentarily. “Shit. I was going to...”

“It’s fine. He knows were both okay.”

_I still should’ve called..._“Thank you.”

“No problem.” Another pause. “I’m sorry, Abby. About the whole plan...you almost _died_...”

“What’s done is done, Jonathan, and I was never that angry about it.” _Not as much as a should have been._ Too tired to discuss it further, she drifted off to sleep again. _I’ll get back to work later..._

* * *

Two days later, during a light snowfall, Abby stepped off an aircraft onto the landing field outside Lancaster Center to find Marcus Kane unexpectedly waiting. She didn’t say anything before walking into his open arms, leaning into him and letting him bear most of her weight for a few long moments. “I missed you,” she said at length.

“I missed you, too.” He pushed her back slightly, expression pained as he brushed his fingers over the finger-shaped bruises on her neck and the chain from which hung her and Jake’s wedding rings. “God, _Abby_...”

“I’m alive,” she reminded him. “And I got these back. Are you okay? Being out here?”

“Lacey and the twins accompanied me,” he said, gesturing of to where the doctor was trying to keep Ian and Isla out of the way of the people unloading the four newly-arrived aircraft. “I’m managing. It was worth it, seeing you that much sooner.”

“Marcus!” Jonathan came down the ramp behind her, and she stepped aside so he and Marcus could hug. Before she moved off to greet Lacey and the twins, she heard the teenager mutter some kind of apology..._Probably for concocting a plan that nearly got us both killed_...and heard Marcus tell him that all was forgiven. _I feel the same way. It was still utterly idiotic, but did work out in the end. _

On the way home, Abby, Marcus, and Jonathan stopped by the hospital, where Jo Sonnet had been sent a day earlier to complete her recovery. The short-haired woman had already managed to seriously offend six nurses with her language and had somehow kept and turned the bullet Abby had dug out of her shoulder into a sort of pendant to wear around her neck. “Took too long with one arm in a damn sling, but I did it!” she told them. “Griffin, you look like shit.”

“I got strangled by a psychopath and slept about six hours in total in the last forty-eight, so that’s not surprising.” Even after she had started to take breaks, helping with the myriad of injured until she was shipped back to Lancaster Quarter had been brutal. “You look far better than you should have screwing with the bullet by yourself and nearly bleeding out. Like I told you_ not _to.”

Jo chuckled, then winced. “Goddamn ribs. You all doing all right, Kane?”

He responded with an affirmative, and they stayed for a short while longer. When they left, Jo shouted after them, “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for your damn fool plan, Lancaster!” interspersed with a number of other expletives Abby didn’t even recognize. “And tell your boyfriend to come visit me!”

“He will!” Jonathan called back, then muttered sulkily, “We didn’t _ask_ her to follow us...”

They returned to the Lancaster house...Marcus successfully managing to avoid a full-on panic attack on the way at the sound of a slamming car door...and were greeted by Sara. Before the older woman left early that evening, she hugged all three of them, waved off Abby’s heartfelt thanks for watching over Marcus, and reminded them to eat the dinner she’d made.

It was a near-silent meal, though not in an unhappy way. The peace felt comfortable, leaving space to think or not; personally, Abby had trouble clearing her head. They all went to bed right after cleaning up; while saying goodnight, Jonathan embraced both adults. “Bed sounds so good right now...It’s been a long few months.”

_Can’t argue with that. _

“You did good, son,” Marcus told him.

“Not really,” Jonathan said with a half-smile. “But I can always do better tomorrow.”

Sinking into their own bed a few minutes later with Marcus’s arms around her, Abby said, “I think he’ll be okay. In time.”

“He’s strong. He will be.” Marcus pressed a kiss to her hair. “We’ll be okay, too.”

“Hmm.” Abby adjusted the position of her head so she could clearly hear Marcus’s heartbeat. "Sometimes...I wonder...”

“You wonder what?”

“I wonder what Jake would think of me.”

“About...about us?”

“Well, yes, sometimes, but I meant...I suppose I wonder what_ everyone_ would think. Jake, Clarke, Callie...everyone we left behind at one point or another. I told you, before this war really started...I’m not sure who I am anymore. Or maybe I just always believed I was a better person than I really was...until the evidence to the contrary was staring me in the face.”

“You’re a good person, Abby.”

“I’ve wanted revenge, _wanted_ people to suffer for what they’ve done to me, to us. I’ve killed people, and not thought twice about it.” She shifted, looking up into his face. “I would’ve killed Alan Delacour. I didn’t plan to, I didn’t _need_ to at that moment...I could’ve just tried to hold him at gunpoint, but...He made me angry, and I pulled the trigger. If I hadn’t been out of bullets...”

“Abby.” Marcus stroked her hair, warm dark eyes looking directly into hers. “We’ve both made mistakes. We’ve both killed...and we both regret it. But like Jonathan said...We can do better tomorrow. We _will_. Together.”

She shut her eyes, taking a deep breath. _Whatever comes next..._“Together.”

* * *

The war had ended, weeks passed, and things began to settle.

Generals Torrent and Leavey took control of Delacour Quarter and the entire Province until a real democratic system could be set up. New leaders seemed to be emerging already. Some kind of representative council was in the near future, along with a president or other such head of state.

“They’ll phase out the hereditary mayor system eventually,” Jonathan said. “But if they don’t do it within the next month or so I’ll have to be mayor, and I don’t think I know how. Mom didn’t get around to teaching me as much about leading as she did about hunting.”

“Yet somehow that’s how the laws are written.” Abby stifled a sigh. _Who set up this country, again? Oh, right: pre-apocalypse billionaires. _

“As long as you have trustworthy, more experienced people helping you, you’ll be fine, Jonathan,” Marcus said. “If you don’t like the position...As you said, you probably won’t have it forever. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“_We.” Both of us keep using that word a lot, and not just to refer to ourselves. _

Under the rule of the victorious rebels, most Delacour citizens were pardoned, with soldiers and many elites being given relatively short prison or labor sentences. Some were punished more severely, and only the very few who tried to cause deadly trouble after the surrender being executed, and not publicly. In reality, most of the so-called purple Quarter had been tired of the war and resigned to its inevitable end long before the official surrender.

With winter well underway, some reconstruction had to wait. However, copious plans were made for the rebuilding of Aberdeen Center and the repair of the Cobalt and Delacour Centers, along with the as the repair and expansion of dozens of towns and villages throughout the country. The vaults were being scoured for useful materials, and any secret Delacour storehouses plundered to make sure no one starved in the difficult aftermath of the war. Soldiers could leave the rebel army if they wished, though many stayed to help keep everything stable as the Province began piecing itself back together.

For the three current residents of the Lancaster house, things were more quiet than not.

Jonathan kept working most days, technically part of the military stationed near Lancaster Center, despite not being allowed to carry a gun anymore. Abby helped out at the hospital sometimes, opting to spend about every other day doing what she could around the Lancaster residence and spending time with Marcus. They took plenty of time to intimately reacquaint themselves with each other’s bodies, between many walks in peaceful areas, weather permitting, and long discussions about the books Marcus had been reading at an almost absurd rate.

Under Sara’s instruction, he had even been learning how to cook on the days during which he felt more in control.

“It’s actually tolerable,” Abby joked when he made dinner on one of Sara’s days off. Jonathan was spending the night with Gus elsewhere, so it was just the two of them. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this over the radio.”

“It was slow progress, at first,” Marcus replied. “If one of us so much as dropped a spoon I could panic.” His brow furrowed. “You’re not wearing your rings today.”

Abby automatically checked her neck. “Oh. Right, I...they’re on the dresser in our bedroom. I forgot to put them on today, and...I’ve been forgetting to.” _I’d grown used to not having them at all…_

“Abby,” Marcus said, reaching across the table to take her hand. “You know I...”

“I know.” She smiled at him, giving his hand a squeeze.

The rings were put away for good after that, though Abby made sure they were somewhere she wouldn’t lose them.

Shortly after that, Leslie Lancaster’s body was finally laid to rest after months of being held in a hospital morgue. She was buried in a family plot just north of the town wall, surrounded by trees, on a day where snow fell but the temperature was slightly above freezing for much of the afternoon. The burial was well-attended, yet simple. _As she would have wanted. _

“She said she would’ve been your friend, if she’d let herself,” Abby told Marcus as they stood, warmly dressed and hand-in-hand, watching from a distance as Jonathan held himself together and thanked the people who had come to the funeral before they left. “I think she might have been mine, too.”

“She was a good person,” Marcus said. “A good leader. She deserved better.”

_So many do. _Abby rested her head on his shoulder, saying nothing.

He spoke again after a minute. “When I die, I’d like to be buried in the ground.”

_Up on the Ark, we floated the dead; the Grounder clans burned them. _“I want to be buried, too,” she said. _In the ground we’d never believed we’d get to see. _

* * *

About a week later, Orion Fisher arrived in Lancaster Center with his beloved Ana, who he had been reunited with in the midst of the actual surrender of the Delacour troops. They’d married as simply and as quickly as possible, and had decided to settle in Lancaster Quarter. When they came over for dinner to visit with Marcus and Abby...Jo showed up, too; unexpected her presence was not protested...Jonathan offered to throw the newlyweds a wedding party, to which they could invite whoever they wished. “I’m happy to. We kind of owe you, Orion. We’d never have gotten Marcus back without your help.”

“Hey, what about me?” Jo demanded, pretending to be offended even as she grew as excited as Orion and Ana about a party.

It was a lot of work for everyone, but it turned out wonderful.

Outside, it was dark and icy cold; inside, the so often empty house was brightly lit, filled with voices and laughter,warmed by heaters and roaring fires and the body heat of roughly a hundred people. Orion was the kind of person who made friends wherever he went, even during a war, and Ana had a lot of extended family she’d wanted to invite. Given that the last remaining Lancaster was paying for everything, everyone was more than accommodated even when he invited some people of his own.

Abby mingled with the crowd on the ground floor while an informal dinner was served and for some time after, but soon escaped upstairs to find Marcus, who had made and appearance then vanished early on. “Too many people?” she asked when she found him in their room.

“Too many people,” he confirmed. “They’re all very nice, but...It’s just too much.”

“That’s okay. You’re doing so much better.”

She sat down next to him on the bed, and he looked at her and said sadly, “I may never be...entirely _all right_, Abby.”

“Who is?”

He let out a low chuckle as music began to drift up from downstairs. This song wasn’t the first of the night, though it was slower than some and sounded vaguely familiar. Abby began to sway to it a bit, and Marcus noticed. Standing, he held out his hand, “May I have this dance?”

She responded by also standing and reaching up to lightly grip his shoulders. His hands found her waist, and they began swaying around the center of the room, gently, bodies touching without preset steps or concerns.

_Here’s another moment I would like to _ _stay in. _

“I don’t know if I mentioned this earlier,” Marcus said. “You look beautiful.”

Abby glanced down at herself. For the party, Lacey had lent her a v-necked, long-sleeved midnight blue dress made of soft, shimmery material that clung to her curves and brushed against the floor. “Thank you. Lacey said I should dress up a little. She even lent me matching shoes. Thank God they’re not high heels. I’ve heard those are a nightmare to walk in.”

“Well, I’m glad she was so invested.” He smiled down at her. “I love you.”

Drawing him even closer, letting her forehead lean against his chest, Abby murmured, “Love you, too.”

A knock on the door caused them to pull apart. “Come in!” Abby called, keeping her hands on Marcus in case he panicked; he didn’t.

“I’m so sorry if I interrupted anything,” Gillian Patel said apologetically. “But Jemma and I need to leave in a few minutes and she’s too busy arguing with Jo Sonnet to talk to you.” The general and her wife had happened to be in Lancaster Center during that week, and Orion had invited them both.

“It’s no problem,” Abby said with a smile. “Marcus, you’ve met Gillian?”

“Briefly, yes. I spoke to her and Jemma downstairs earlier. How can we help you?”

“It’s more about how _we_ can help _you_.” Patel took a deep breath. “You may have heard that one of the long-distance Delacour aircraft was destroyed, and another damaged. The third, however, is fully functioning. Flying across the country during the most unpredictable period of winter weather isn’t advised, but...We want you to know that whenever you’re ready to go back to your Arkadia, someone will be able to take you.”

_They did remember Leslie’s promise. We’re going back..._

Tears stinging her eyes, Abby gripped Marcus’s hand, feeling his fingers curl tightly around hers in response. “Thank you,” she managed to say. “We..._thank you_.”

“It’s no trouble. For all the difficulty Jemma likes to say you both have caused, all the hell our country put you through, and all you did for its people anyway, you’ve earned a little help from us.” Gillian hesitated. “I also want you to know...If things don’t work out for you there, if it’s not...You’re welcome to come back, to stay. In fact, we’d probably welcome more of your people...provided no one caused any trouble, of course.”

_Even if things are bad in Arkadia, there’s still hope…_

Marcus’s voice was shaking audibly as he spoke for both of them. “We can never thank you enough.”

“Then you’re welcome.” Gillian inclined her head slightly and stepped towards the door. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

Once she’d gone, Abby turned to Marcus. “We’re going back,” she said, almost unable to believe it.

“We are,” he said, excitement lighting up his features.

_There’s still a chance..._“What we find may not be good.”

“Then we’ll face it together.” He cradled her face, brushing back her hair that now reached her shoulders again and tracing his thumb over the fading scar on her cheek. “We’ll be sure not to lose touch with this place, either, if things are good rather than bad in Arkadia. There’s so much we could do, so much we could change for the better...”

In the silence that followed, they recognized the sound of Jonathan laughing somewhere below. _I haven’t heard him laugh like that since…_“We can’t abandon him. Not after everything.”

“We won’t. We’re not abandoning anyone.” Marcus’s lingering fear had completely vanished in that moment, replaced by the resoluteness of Marcus the leader, the diplomat. “These are our people, too, Abby.”

_Yes. I don't know when they became that, but they are. _“As soon as spring gets here, we’ll go, for however long we have to. Given how fast you’ve recovered, you should be fine by then...well, enough for that journey.”

“Good. Because I’m not letting you go again. Not as long as I live.”

She laughed. “Likewise.”

They kissed, and Abby lost herself too it.

_Forget earlier; _this_ is the moment I want to live in forever._

Outside, the winter wind blew, carrying the cold and snow. Somewhere far beyond it, another wind lurked for the time being, carrying warmth and the promise of spring.

_And the promise of hope. _

* * *

**__(End of Part 3)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to finish now :)  
Thank you for the comments and kudos!


	23. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really enjoyed writing this story. For now it's done, although I may write some oneshots in this alternate universe if I ever need to quickly work out some excess The 100 feels. ;)  
Thank you all so much for reading!

A year has passed since relative peace was restored, spring has returned, and the people from the sky are continue to live under the shadow of their fallen station. Surrounded by enemies and allies both reluctant and willing, they survive, continually finding reasons to feel happy,to hope, yet always afraid of any single incident that might end in the destruction of everything they have built. Given all they have already lost, it would not be surprising.

Nothing is ever certain on the ground, anyway.

However, one day, the regular operation of the settlement is interrupted by something utterly unexpected. Normal activities and conversations turn into terrified, bewildered shouts and general panic. Leaders scramble for the best response, soldiers reach for their weapons, and everyone else draws back, gaping as the massive, silver-black aircraft descends from above, nearly filling the open space at the center of the village.

It looks so out of place, it is hard for them to believe it is real.

Confusion was only one emotion the appearance of the aircraft invokes; fear is the most prevalent. The once-commander of death and her dearest friend move forward, hearing the alarmed voices of their people, warning the soldiers to not fire unless fired upon, and trying desperately to figure out their next move.

A ramp lowers, a man and a woman walk down it, and suddenly the terror turns to astonishment and, after a few speechless moments, joy.

What follows over the next few days is a series of emotional reunions between family and friends. There are disbelieving cries, earnest embraces, and many tears. There are confused tales and explanations and discussions of what comes next.

Some, like the girl from under the floor turned warrior, are wary of the idea of this other civilization far to the west. Some, like a young farmer and his beloved, are weary of the constant fear that their current living situation brings and imagine a future somewhere more secure. Those not from the sky also learn of the distant country, and find themselves both intrigued and afraid.

If the people from the west can create a flying ship like the one that brought home two long-lost people, what else can they do? The answer, of course, is quite a lot. 

It takes time, but things change and then settle into something that feels more stable. Some of the sky people choose to stay; many, though torn, choose to leave the remnants of their past for a more promising future. Tenuous contact is established between the clans of the east and the nation of the west, though no one knows how if it will last, as each side is reluctant to change much in response to the other.

But peace is kept, and for now, that is more than enough.

It will take time, but there will be a good future for those who pursue it. There will be hope for those who look for it. The world will continue to be a battered but beautiful home to everyone who have survived this far.

New homes will be created, families will grow, and there will be a cabin built in the woods north of the town where a strong river meets a vast lake. Years will pass, and the couple who live there will often look up at the stars and smile.

They know that their journey, like those of all their people, will go on.

And it will be better. 


End file.
